Of Men and Slaves:The Ballad Of Andrew Ryan
by Andrei Rian
Summary: The story of the billionaire & the City of the Impossible. And maybe the bottom story of an ordinary man. * Does not include Bioshock 2, having started writing before publication * Translated from original.
1. Prologue

Author's note:This story belong to **Code 44** . I asked his permission to translate this to English to which he'd granted. The translator i'd is Google Translate.

* * *

In the depths of his office, Andrew Ryan let his gaze lost by the windows. The city seemed asleep. Peaceful even. In normal times, he spent hours watching Rapture. His city. His creation. His only vision and the salvation of all mankind. It was probably that the closest thing he had to a daughter to Andrew.

Ryan was very proud of his work. He had worked so hard ... sometimes it was even tempted to give up. But he did not. He chose the impossible and the impossible had been possible. He was now sixty years. More than half a century. He was no longer a young man.

Ryan swung around to check if everything was in order: security was well turned off, the Vita-Chamber disconnected ... perfect. Everything should be okay. Took one last doubt, I have a look at your counter in the lobby: the destruction would be effective in about ten minutes. Perfect. Really perfect.

Ryan quirked a half-smile. He had never thought to be so quiet few minutes of his death. At least he would have the satisfaction of dying before seeing his sunken city forever. Ryan felt sad when he's making his decision. But he much preferred to see Rapture destroyed in the hands of Atlas. Just as what he did to Arcadia,Parasites don't deserve to take what men had built. Atlas was the king of parasites. What Atlas had done was unforgivable to him and his cronies. At least Suchong was already dead, slain by the fruit of his experience and Tenenbaum had realized what she had done, tried to save her soul, if indeed she still has one.

Ryan did not really feel guilty for them. They had followed their ideals and paths,so it was very noble of them. No, the only real fault was Atlas. It was he who transformed the Rapture dream that was into a nightmare. But it was time to intervene. Although the man was elusive, he'll die in Ryan glanced at the timer-eight minutes. Eight minutes separated Atlas's end. He'll die before he understood what was happening. It was unwise to put plans into execution quickly: the name of Ryan would be defiled and it will despoiled Rapture. A drop of sweat fell from him doubt for a moment but he shrugged. In a short time, everything would be over. Everyone will die, including himself.

He went for his golf club and began what was to be his last game. And while doing this, a lot of memories washed over ...

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

_Russia, forty-five years and eight months earlier._

"Andrei! Andrei!"

The young Andrei Artiomovitch Rydjii dropped the fort he built in the tree and turned when he heard his sister call. Ievguenia was three years older than him. She had long wheat blonde hair , Andrei's hair were black as coal. Andrei adored his big sister. After their mother died at the birth of Andrei, Artiom Ievguenia helped their father to raise the boy. Ievguenia finally reached his brother.

"Andrei! Father wants to see you. He is in his office."

The boy frowned. Why his father summoned it right in the afternoon? Had he made a stupidity? Andrei became convinced that the only way to know was to see. He descended the shaft by rope ladder and ran along the path towards the house. The latter was not great but opulent. it had a garden and a forest around the house

Artiom Rydjii was a physician of great talent, having some contact with the royal family. The Rydjii did not complain about the harshness of life. Without being worth millions, Artiom earned enough to give her children a decent future.

Andrei knocked timidly at the door of paternal office. Deep voice and dry the latter invited him to enter. Andrei walked through the door with apprehension. This piece had always impressed.A relatively small office, paneled in light wood. A secretary, a liquor cabinet and a corner sofa the favorite of his father.

Artiom waited for his son in the black leather sofa near the window. He was a tall, thin man, with many physical similarities with her son. Artiom smoothed with a mechanical gesture his pair of black whiskers. With a wave of his hand, he pointed to a chair close to Andrei. The boy sat down quickly.

"You ask for me, Father?" Andrei questioned in a trembling voice.

"Yes, Andrei. I want to talk about important things."

Rydjii Sr. paused. He pointed to a nearby newspaper.

"Can you read the headlines?"

Andrei nodded. He stood up and grabbed the newspaper to read aloud:

"The Russian of June 29, 1914: Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife murdered yesterday in Sarajevo by a Serbian nationalist student."

Artiom's face was darkened while his son was reading the newspaper. He cut his son in his tracks:

"Do you know what happens next?

"Yes. The Archduke and his wife,Sophie were killed by Gavrilo Princip . This means that the heir to the Austrian throne is the great-nephew of the Emperor Charles.

Artiom Rydjii closed his eyes and rubbed the length. Andrei knew his father enough to recognize this sign of extreme fatigue . Artiom spoke in a soft voice but sad

"This is not the succession of Austria-Hungary but which we must concern ourselves with other Russians. Ferdinand was killed by Serbs. It's a safe bet that Austria will take the opportunity to ask an ultimatum to Serbia. And if Serbia refuses, Austria declare war."

Andrei give thought a few moments. Then he remembered that Russia and Serbia were very good friends.

"But Father ... Serbia and Russia are friends. If Serbia is under attack ...

His father finished his sentence for him:

"Then Russia enter the war against Austria. And the Triple Alliance will join inand..."

This time, it was Andrei who cut his father

" ...The whole Europe will go to war."

Artiom said ruefully:

"OH! Much more than Europe, son. WE will enter into a world war, I'm afraid."

Andrei's heart sank on hearing these words. A war was a terrible thing: Andrei remembered well the damage had been done by the conflict against Japan. He had been maybe five at the time but he had accompanied his father, sent to treat wounded soldiers after the siege of Port Arthur. It does this oublirait never smoke, blood and cries ... and now another war, far greater danger to burst?.Andrei could not even imagine how this war would be deadly.

The boy turned to his father:

"Father ,You have contacts in St. Petersburg. You may be able to use it to convince the tsar ..."

Artiom burst into a hearty laugh:

"My Son! I am not a doctor having some friendship with Admiral Kolchak. I don't have the ear of the Tsar! You overestimated me!

Andrei's father suddenly stopped laughing. He turned to his son, gravely:

"Andrei. If war breaks out, I can assure you that the Empire will not lose against Japan but we will not win against the Triple Alliance, even with France and England with us. Whatever happens, we are at the end of Russia as we have known it ...

Prohibited, Andrei nodded. For once, he hoped that his father was wrong, that World War did not erupt.

But in the future, he himself was wrong ...

* * *

Author's note: Andrei Artiomovitch Rydjii is Andrei Rianofski is Andrew Ryan


	3. Chapter 3

_Russia, forty-one years earlier_

Andrei walked in the snow a few meters before searching the depths of his pockets for a cigarette. In passing through the streets of the village, he quickly read the headlines. There was nothing new civil war was at its height between Reds and Whites, not to mention the intervention of Europe. At least he could be satisfied that the violence did not affect the dacha familly, well insulated where he and his family were holed up since the fall of the Tsar. Andrei was returning home after a few months absence. He had wanted to go to Moscow, but the proximity of the fighting had forced him to turn back.

The fortunes of Rydjii had suffered from the war but they remained largely still living.

Artiom's words were prophetic alas summers: one month after their meeting in the office, Europe was ablaze. Russia had been crushed and the Tsar brought down by a revolution. Communist Lenin took power and moved the capital to Moscow. For a little more than two years, a civil war between Tsarist Russia was divided and Communists. Andrei although his family has always been loyal to the Tsar, He felt close to the ideology of Lenin. He believed that the men were able to enjoy the fruits of their labor by making their goods in common. A classless society, common possessions. Andrei had studied somewhat Marx and his ideas were attractive. But Andrei did not feel enough decided to join the party of Lenin. Andrei thought until the end of the civil war to get an idea. Even if at the moment, he leaned more towards the Reds, who knows if in a few months it would take for the white party?

Andrei took longer than expected to reach the dacha. The house was far from the city and the snow made walking difficult, especially at this late hour.

He quickly crossed the snowy driveway and soon to push the heavy wooden doors of the entrance. He delights in the warmth that prevailed in the familly house. He took off his coat and boots full of snow before turning the house into a pool. He was barely a few meters as her sister came to him:

"Andrei!"

The young man kissed his sister smiling. He began by telling him about the latest news when she suddenly interrupted:

"Andrei, I must talk to you. It's about Father."

"Father? Andrei wondered. What's going on? Is he okay?"

Ievguenia pouted a few seconds:

"He is drinking again."

Andrei looked up to heaven. His father had always had a penchant for drinking but his problem with alcohol had increased since the fall of the Russian Empire. The young man crossed his arms and asked his sister:

"I guess, Is Father completely drunk?"

Ievguenia pointing to Father's Office

"non Only is drunk, but he desperately wants to talk to you."

"Me, Talk about what?"

Ievguenia shrugged

"How should I know? You know father and his sense of secrecy. It will mean nothing to you apart."

Andrei smoothed mustache mechanically. He let grow for some time. One way to think of it.

"Oh Well, he whispered. I'm going to see Father. You can go to bed, Jenia. After I speak with father, I would go to sleep. Don't bother to wait for me"

Her sister nodded and went into her room while Andrei went to his father's office. Finding the door open, he slipped inside and fprécaution eusement.

Artiom Rydjii was slumped on his sofa, drink in hand and two bottles of vodka half empty dragging on the ground. Andrei was shocked to see his father in this state. Artiom had many wrinkles during the months when his son had not been seen. A salt and pepper beard badly cut replaced the usual favorites of his father. Artiom breathing hard and irregular intervals. Space for a moment, Andrei thought his father was asleep.

But he motioned to his son to approach. The young man did:

"Father? You still drunk", he says by removing the glass gently hands. "Should I remind you that you have been by the doctor?"

Artiom laughed noisily:

"Ha! Rather amusing is it not ,my son? A doctor who becomes an alcoholic ... It could make a good story ..."

"Father. I guess you did not bring to me here to discuss literature?"

Artiom's eyes became clearer within a second:

"No, Indeed. I need to talk to you before I die."

"Father, You celebrated your forty-five years, three months ago. I do not think dying is the agenda, said Andrei with humor."Unless you go on drinking as a Pole, you still have your good days ahead."

His father had a fit of temper:

"It is good for my health, guy an idiot! It is not old age that will take me much less that". he said pointing a bottle of vodka. "I'll tell you something my son. The October Revolution that you support ... it will lead the country to ruin."

Andrei felt a twinge but stands silent. His father continued his demonstration

"The ideology of Marx is commendable. Maybe communism save the world. But not Russia. Movement are created by peasants and workers,They can not replace a secular power like the Czar."

"The Romanov are no longer just made out the young man. And there's no royal family, no return to tsarism possible."

"I do not propose to put the Tsar's family on the throne. I doubt that Lenin and the Bolsheviks would soon to dismiss him."

Andrei stifled a yawn. He sincerely hoped that his father held him not to talk politics. He was exhausted and did not want one thing, to find his bed.

"Father. What are you saying?"

Artiom was a mischievous look:

"You don't always like long speeches huh? So listen, this is what I wanted to confide to you. Our family has always been loyal to the tsar. Today, that loyalty will turn against us. Lenin will release his hounds and we'll be torn to shreds. That's what these years were present still got me: a secular government can be brought down by his people. And if the government replaces not suitable for these people, it will be removed in turn."

"But ,Father!."

"Andrei, Said his father by planting his eyes into his. "This country will never know peace. Any attempt to challenge this will be suppressed in blood. Russia becomes too dangerous. You must go."

"But where would I go? cried the young man. But where? And why? I am attached to my country, I am proud to be Russian!"

"if you like, whispered his father. The country is mired in war. Where you want to go: Europe, America ... but go. You must decide: where you live here and you must obey slave all your life or you choose to go and live as a free man. Because this is the difference: the man chooses and a slave obeys."

Artiom closed his eyes:

"I hope that my son is not a slave but a man..."

Andrei waited a few minutes his father falls asleep. It was heartbreaking to see a man like Artiom and sink.

Andrei gently while leaving the paternal office, he could not help thinking of the doctor's words. Could they be true?

Andrei decided to talk to his father the next morning. Tonight, he needed sleep.

The young man walked in without waiting for his room, undressed and slipped under the sheets.

He fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

His sleep was dreamless and brief: a engine noise and agitation pulled out of his dreams. Andrei went to the window to see what could be causing this noise. He gasped in surprise when a group of soldiers descended from a truck parked in front of the dacha and head towards the door. Without losing a moment, he got dressed and jumped out of his room. He had not the fist two meters of his father stopped him. Andrei looked up Artiom. His father wore a threadbare robe. The eyes of his father was clear and all traces of alcohol seemed to have disappeared.

"You and sister, go hide, ordered his father. We do not know what these soldiers want."

"But!" Andrei..."

His father repeated his order with such conviction that the young man was forced to obey. He turned and ran to lock in a nearby room with her sister. From where they were, they could hear the conversation between the father and the soldiers. One of the officers turned to their father in a loud voice:

"Are you well, Artiom Alexandrovich Rydjii?"

"I'm good, officer, Artiom said. Why you and your men come to bother me at night."

"Comrade Rydjii, you're accused of complicity with whites and plotting against the legitimate regime of Comrade Lenin. We are responsible to stop you and take you to Moscow for trial."

Andrei heard her father objected:

"This is wrong! I'd never conspired against the Party, officer. I am a patriot."

The officer issued a fake laugh:

"But you have been given several times at the Admiral Kolchak, is not it? Kolchak the same fighting against our glorious troops and was elevated to Chief of the White!

"I Can not deny that,officer. I cared Kolchak during the war against Japan and we stayed friends. I have not seen him since the end of the war."

"It matter the party. Your dacha and all your assets are now owned by the Socialist Federative Soviet Republic of Russia.

"Officer, I agree to follow you without resistance without condition that your and men do not search my house. There is nothing of value."

"Is that so! exclaimed the soldier. You have no authority to prevent us from searching a dacha belonging to us."

"Officer..."

Andrei immediately noticed that the tone of his father hardened. Artiom did not let the soldiers plunder the house and find his children.

"What do we do? Andrei whispered his sister"

"Father told us to stay hidden."

"Yes, But it can not hold the military very long Jenia. They will eventually go up and find us.

"While her sister was about to reply, it was interrupted by sounds of a scuffle, insults and gunshots. Ievguenia crushed her hand over his mouth."

"Father!"

Before Andrei has had time to do something, his sister had unlocked the door and left the room. He rushed after her but she was too far ahead. No sooner had he reached the top of the stairs ,Ievguenia already descended down. At the bottom of them, lying in a pool of blood, Artiom screamed in pain. Three soldiers whose guns were still smoking around him and a fourth uniformed officer unsheathed his revolver to shoot him. But before he had time to pull the trigger, Ievguenia pounced on the officer claws out. It was thrown against the wall while Jenia tried to seize the weapon. Andrei had space for a moment to go help her sister, but the soldiers were the fastest. In a flash, they pointed their guns at Ievguenia and fire. The young woman gasped in surprise when the bullets reached. A veil of color pearl overlaid dirty her eyes and she collapsed.

Andrei tried to scream but his cries remained stuck in his throat. Her sister had died before his eyes. His father was lying in his own blood. And soon, Andrei would be killed himself unless he starts to run.

The soldiers raised his eyes towards him and saw him. Without losing a moment, Andrei turned and went back into the coridor, pursued by soldiers. Strangely, he did not believe what had happened. He thought only one thing: survival.

He ran. He ran as fast as his legs could, as fast as he allowed his breath and his heartbeat panic. But he was trapped and he knew it. The dacha was nice to be on two floors, the staircase was only occupied by his pursuers. Andrei risked a glance over his shoulder. They were still in pursuit. Panicked, he passed a door to find the room of his father. He locked the door to hurry but knew that the military would need only a few moments to sink. Andrei searched the room for something to defend himself, but there was nothing usable. Disappointed, the young man stared at the large window in front of him. An idea crossed his mind. He could not escape from where the soldiers arrived, but perhaps he could escape through the window? The snow was thick and could soften the blow. He soon abandoned the idea of opening the window wide: he would never have the time, he would cross. A thump shook the door. He had to act quickly. The young man quickly took a blanket on the bed and rolling as much as possible inside, protecting priority in his face, he raced ahead. He passed through the window at the same time the soldiers kicking down the door and entered the room. The strange thing was that when he fell Andrei felt good. He was not afraid, felt free. He forgot the recent death of his family and soldiers who would surely riddled with bullets at the same time it touch the ground.

The exhilaration of the jump vanishes at the same time Andrei sprawled heavily in the snow. He got up as soon as possible and check that had nothing broken. He was struck but did not seem to be hurt. Despite the fact that he was wearing clothes inside the biting cold had no impact on him. The adrenaline kept her body warm. Andrei tried to reason faster: the dacha was far from the village and the latter, far from everything. For now, the action kept rested but in a short time, the cold weaken and die frozen. He needed a vehicle. And the only vehicle around was that soldiers of the Red Army.

Without losing a moment, the young man ran to the truck, picking up a stone in its tracks. The soldiers leave one of their keeping the vehicle but if Andrei was fast, he could escape before his pursuers catch up.

The truck driver had passed his head through the door, probably having seen the young man. He was not fast enough to avoid the stone that struck between the eyes. He let out a groan of pain and collapsed. Without losing a moment, Andrei went on the step and pulling the soldier, he dropped it in the snow.

The young man sat in the driver's seat and was revving the engine. He had never driven so big machine of his life, he hoped that his instinct would guide him.

While he was busy walking to understand how the vehicle, the doors to the dacha opened wide and the rest of the soldiers appeared. Frightened, Andrei crushed successively several pedals before finding the right one and make squealing tires. He had found how to move forward.

Left to flee.

Logically, it pressed the pedal and the truck nearby began to recede. The soldiers began firing positions and some bullets touched the cockpit. But Andrei was not afraid: he finally managed to make a U-turn and crushing his accelerator pedal as best he could, he left the field. the Soldiers on foot, had no way to catch up to the young man. He was finally safe. He continued to drive long hours trying to get away again endangerment the dacha.

It was only when he found himself in the big city nearest authorized it to relax. He stopped the vehicle and left many tears running down his cheeks. He never knew exactly how long he wept until they dropped with exhaustion.

When he awoke the next morning, he had to note with sadness that last night had nothing of a dream: his family had been murdered by soldiers of the Red Army and himself had fled, killing Perhaps the passage of its Party would undoubtedly find to make him suffer the same fate as Artiom and Ievguenia. He could not stay in Russia.

His father had been right in the end: he was well away. But where to go? He had a penny. Andrei wanted to live as a free man and it was not in Russia he could do. He had a country where one is free to think, to say what we wanted.

It was then that his readings he remembered. It evoked a country where the poorest of its immigrants could make a fortune. Where by the fruits of his labor and sweat of his brow, anyone could gain its rightful place.

United States of America. The pros and cons were weighed in a moment he was going there. He went from there, settle and make a fortune.

It was decided.

In a short time, the country of Uncle Sam will welcome a new member: Andrei Artiomovitch Rydjii.


	4. Chapter 4

_USA Forty years and six months earlier_

_Give me your tired, your poor,  
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,  
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.  
Send thesis, the homeless, tempest-tost, to me,  
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!_

These are the words uttered Andrei in a trembling voice on the deck of the ship that docked on Ellis Island. This poem, he knew since he was a toddler. It was also the only English words he knew perfectly. He knew little about the poems except that adorned the base of the Statue of Liberty. He had always believed that the statue was on Ellis Island to welcome immigrants but now he was in New York in person, it was indeed admit that he was wrong. Miss Liberty was on another island nearby Ellis Island. But in the end, all this fell to detail the young man. He was in the USA! The country of opportunity. Here, it could start a new life away from Russia and his communism. In recent months, Andrei had had time to mourn her family even if it had not been easy. In contrast, the Marxist ideology of mourning was much simpler.

Its communist doctrines? Missing in the blood of his father and his sister. He could not support a regime that had indirectly caused the death of his family. This is why Andrei had turned naturally to the opposite of communism liberalism.

He did not know much about this line of thought in political philosophy except he placed individual freedom above all. And in this context it receded enough Bolshevik theses to seduce the young man.

Andrei went down in the first vessel to go ashore as if this precipitation could make U.S. more quickly. A motley crowd around him: European, Asian, African ... all these immigrants were here at the end of 1919 to live the American dream.

The young man had to take his pain with patience: he was far from being the only foreigner on Ellis Island. He was placed in a long line and was like the others, a small sheet of paper on which he had numbered mark his full name and his hometown.

Then he had to wait. It was only after long hours he could finally enter the main building. Hundreds of immigrants waiting for their turn, briefly examined by a doctor.

Andrei was surprised to see that some immigrants wore numbers or signs with white chalk on their clothes. Those marked were led away by police. Andrei spoke to his neighbor who succeeded queue

"Excuse Me" says Andrei a pathetic English. "Why are they marked?"

The other replied in a hesitant English equally

"they are sick, they will not come forward to be healed. They will be placed in isolation until they heal up."

Andrei nodded his head. It was quite logical in fact. America does not want to risk an outbreak like the Spanish flu which the world fell away. He just hoped that he would not be sick. He had gotten a cold in Europe during his trip but was healed up in recent weeks. It was hoped that he did not refuse entry.

It was the turn of the young man to be examined: the doctor looked carefully examined his pupils, and felt his pulse. In less than a minute, the auscultation was completed. The doctor motioned him to stand at the counter. Andrei went there at a rapid pace. He waited until the person in front of him leaving the employee to come to the office.

The cashier was a stocky, with a thick mustache and horn-rimmed glasses. He spoke to Andrei but he did not speak English well, he did not understand the meaning of words. The interpreter came to his aid. Watching the hometown of Andrei, he knew what language to speak

"What is your name? he questioned in Russian"

"Andr..." But the young man stopped.

He would meet Andrei Artiomovitch Rydjii as he did for nineteen years. But now he could not answer to that name. Simply because in Russia, Andrei died ten months earlier with his family. If he wanted to live free in this new country, he had to abandon his slave name. That is why he said in a trembling voice but yet determined

"Andrew. Andrew Ryan."

The employee made his papers in the name of "Andrew Ryan." Andrew Ryan took them ,thanking the cashier. He took his bag under his arm and left the office satisfied. That's it. It was done.

New name, new country ... maybe happen to make something of his life here.

Andrew stood in the vast New York, not knowing what to do. The city literally crushed him: its tall buildings and crowds far exceeded anything that the young man had known. Andrew felt lost and overwhelmed, just as if they were in a huge toy store without knowing where to go to find happiness.

He fumbled in his pockets: he has barely ten dollars. Not go far enough. Selling the truck had brought a beautiful little package but the ticket to Ellis Island had sunk all his money. And he had to find a place to stay the night before is a small ten hours. Ten hours to find a home with ten dollars, not counting the cost of meals. He really hoped that America was the land of opportunity because if the young man would have felt a little depressed. A quote on hope returned to him in memory, a favorite of his father. An African proverb that said, "Hope is the pillar of the world." In other words, hopeless world collapses. In the end it was not so much money or power that forged the world but his belief and hope that they spent. He was only ten dollars? And then? It probably find something to get out.

The young man went in search of a home. Having no money, he wandered long in the city before stopping dead in front of a grocery store in Little Italy. A poster caught the eye of Andrew: this last one could read "we search an employee." Andrei timidly pushed the door and gasped in surprise when he heard the bell. The store was empty so it seemed: not customers or employees, but a commotion was heard at the back of the store.

"Excuse Me?" Ryan asked shouting half

The man who had just joined him a giant bushy beard, he was nearly two meters. He was a middle and impressive as strong as big. He must have been fifty years if it was not more. He wore a plain canvas apron over his clothes on which was inscribed the name of the store "Agenore's."

Andrew stared giant head to toe

"Want you want, son? he asked with an Italian accent

"I..." Murmured interested in a hesitant voice. "In fact I just landed and looking for work."

The great man merely nodded

"Hmm ... And where you come from, son?"

Andrew thought for a moment. Should he tell the truth? Maybe Italians disliked Russian immigrants and throw out. Andrew spoke but too little English and could not hide his Slavic all out, he decided to be honest.

"I came from Russia", stammered the young man. "I had to flee the country because of the Communists."

The Italian thoughtfully scratched his big beard and his face suddenly relaxed.

"Damn Bolsheviks! Damn not even let a kid like you in peace ,eh?

Andrew heaved a sigh of relief. At least the Italian seemed not to Reds in his heart, it was a good point. The man pointed to a chair near himself standing. After successfully installed, the man came in more detail in Andrew.

Born in Naples, he emigrated to America to escape poverty. Working hard, he could buy an old store and modify store. He was the owner and sole manager.

Agenore explained that he wanted an employee who would be committed and that would help keep the store. The young man liked the Italian giant who decided to take the test with the following arrangement: if Andrew worked well enough, he could sleep in a room in a unoccupied floor.

Obviously, Andrew eagerly accepted. Agenore showed him his room: a small room cramped and spartan but still with a bed and a toilet for Andrew Agenore left to settle and gave him a deck similar to his. Andrew admired a few seconds: strange to see a boy of nineteen who a few months earlier, lived in the Russian bourgeois with his family and luxury, find a small grocery store employee in New York. He allowed himself a fleeting smile: the fairy of fate or chance were very temperamental.

Andrew went down to the store to take their instructions from Agenore. The Italian explained what would work: it should deliver some goods to customers, keep the store in the absence of Agenore and various other tasks. Andrew was pushed without waiting in the bath since Agenore gave him a huge bag of potatoes to deliver a few blocks away. The young man believed fail under the weight of potatoes but managed somehow to bring the package to the customer.

Returning to a tottering Agenore's Andrew felt strangely full. This adjective could seem strange but it was the only one who gave a detailed description at this time. He had just completed his first real job. She was given a task and he was perfectly fine out. His heart swelled with pride. It surprised even whistling entering the store. Agenore watched with a satisfied air.

"I have something for you kid", murmured the Italian searching his pocket.

He pulled out a quarter hit the face of George Washington and the arms of the state. He confided to Andrew while saying,

"This Coin is your first paycheck ... it's more symbolic than anything else, but I hope you understand what it represents."

Andrew nodded. The quarter seemed to radiate heat but a pleasant warmth, protective.

Agenore ended his dream with a laugh.

"It's small. If you want to affect others, there is still much work to be done ... and it will not be alone, _capice_?"

Andrew drew up the room preciously in his pocket and went back to work ...

A few hours later, Andrew was exhausted and tired but could not sleep. He could not help but check if the quarter had not gone and spent his time watching again and again. To calm his anxiety, he decided to sleep with his piece in hand. But then he stretched out his arm to take the quarter, a moonbeam passed through the tiny window and lit the room with a mystical in this lunar halo, Andrew could admire at leisure the quarter: he saw the concave and convex, its flaws and perfect parts. Andrew did not dare touch the room for fear of breaking the spell.

And a truth born in the mind of the young Ryan: This piece was a metal washer. He had won legitimately, by the sweat of his brow. This gave an invaluable quarter, much higher than the figures engraved on it. And for that, this piece rightfully belonged. Person, man or god had the right to take him. It was him, him alone.

And it is through this October night, Andrew made himself a promise during his life, he would earn money for his work, much more than this quarter. And yet this piece, it does not sell. It was his first pay, his penny fetish sum. She had given him this essential truth: that a man who earns by the sweat of his brow he rightfully belongs.

And a glittering portrait of Washington in the dark would be to give him a principle forever in memory.


	5. Chapter 5

_USA Forty years and one month earlier_

For nearly three months Andrew has been working in Agenore's. Mere probationary employee, he soon found simply indispensable for the old Italian. Andrew did not just help Agenore to operate his store, he even helped develop Andrew showed himself a true business genius. Every dollar that came in the box of Agenore's, was transformed without waiting two thanks to the talent of the young man. He was aware of the taste and preferences of the time and knew what to sell and at what price. The rumor's Agenore incensed beyond mere geographic boundaries of the district.

Personally, Andrew proceeded methodically: he put paid to each of its side, keeping only a small part to play. He knew that things were hard times and refused to fall into poverty because he had the stupidity to not keep money in case. The little money he kept for fun day was spent resting at the grocery store, going for a drink of beer in a bar where strolling and buying various things in the city. But apart from that day, he never went out and spent little. Though he have the means, it would not be a party animal.

Time passed until the evening of December 31, 1919. A week earlier, Agenore and Andrew had celebrated Christmas together in the grocery store. Andrew had a bottle of excellent chianti his protector and his side, Italian gave him a technological marvel: a gramophone suitcase. The evening of New Year's Eve started when Andrew was sitting in his room studying stock prices in the New York Times, his favorite newspaper. Andrew gave great importance to the stock market and saw them as a quick way to get rich.

Agenore entered the room burst into the young man in Sunday suit. Andrew asked about the reason for his presence here. The response of the Italian was blunt:

"Andrew! It's Wednesday, December 31! Tonight at midnight it's changing to a decade. We must celebrate!"

"Why ... Murmured the young man. We have already celebrated Christmas there is little time, do we really do it again if the party shortly after?

Agenore was categorical:

"You need stop reading the Times,put your best suit and go out with me. Tonight, Broadway awaits us!"

Andrew opened his eyes: his patron was he serious? Broadway? The largest theater in the city? Andrew had never set foot in a theater of the famous avenue. This simple idea did ask her diary and dress elegantly without delay.

The two men left the store after it was securely locked. Broadway is rather far from Little Italy, Agenore hailed a taxi, asking him to lead them to the Theater District. With the car, the trip lasted only a few minutes. It was eight o'clock in the evening when Alceo and Andrew went and walked on Broadway at the Winter Garden Theater Andrew knew he was one of the most prestigious Broadway.

The two men settled into the comfortable armchairs of the theater and waited until the shows start. Quickly, director of the Winter Garden went on stage to announce the program's New Year's Eve festivities.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Let me wish you a Happy New Year 1920!"

While applauding with other viewers, Andrew hoped that 1920 would happen to him better than last year. The director continued:

"The artists you see tonight you may wish it much better than me ... ladies and gentlemen, please welcome a young artist little known but has great potential. I bet he will be known in the future. Tonight on the boards of the Winter Garden Theater, made a triumph ... Sander Cohen!"

The director vanished when the lights went out, leaving a circle of light, illuminating a grand piano. A young man, having almost the age of Ryan seemed arise out of the darkness and sat in front of the instrument. Andrew waited the course of events with impatience.

Cohen cracked his knuckles and began to play. A sweet melody fills the room immediately. Andrew did not know the name but the music was beautiful. Even a tear rolled down her cheek. A neighbor of the young man spoke of Mozart but Andrew did not care to know who wrote the music. The important thing was the man who played.

Cohen still played about half an hour before stopping to make room for other artists. The room exploded with applause. Andrew was among the most enthusiastic. Cohen excessively bowed before leaving the stage reluctantly. Andrew and Alceo still attended some shows before leaving the room. Instead of returning directly, they decided to go through the theater bar to chat with the artists. Andrew really wanted to talk face to face to Cohen.

The bar was made of dark wood paneling, filled with thick smoke. Agenore retreated hastily: he was allergic to cigar smoke. It was decided qu'Alcelo expect the employee outside the looked at the packed crowd a sign which indicate where Cohen could find. Finally, he saw in a corner a little isolated. The young man went to meet him.

The indicator closely, Andrew could better distinguish Cohen was younger than him, he should not have eighteen. His hair was even blacker Andrew and gray eyes of steel. He had a dreamy, almost as if seeing things that were not in the bar. Andrew approached him, hand outstretched.

"Mr. Cohen Magnifique delivery! exclaimed Ryan. It was the first time I heard something so wonderful!

Andrew was sincere. In fact, he always told the truth and hated falsehood.

Cohen broke into a smile

"This always a pleasure to speak with one of my fans, sir?"

Andrew coughed:

"Ryan. My name is Andrew Ryan."

Cohen shook his hand warmly

"As I said, Mr. Ryan, it's always a joy to talk with an expert."

Andrew blushed slightly:

"magistrate, ... You do me too much honor. In truth, it was the first time I heard this song."

Cohen's smile widens:

"But You enjoyed?"

Ryan nodded. Cohen concludes his argument:

"Therefore for me, you're a connoisseur. I can not stand those who call themselves "connoisseurs" and reject a work like Mozart. He was a genius who has elevated the art beyond the limits of imagination. All the greats have done the same: Bach, Beethoven ... I hope that one day, the name of Sander Cohen will rise in the sky as its predecessors.

Andrew blinked, surprised at the tirade of the artist. In all likelihood, Cohen had a high opinion of himself. But Andrew felt that world leaders could beings steeped in pride, they had earned the right. For pride was associated with the pride of accomplishment. And if he could not be more proud of his work, so why work?

"I Know, Ryan murmured. But tell me, without being intrusive ... how did you find you on the boards of Broadway as young?"

Cohen laughed frank and communicative:

"You know what they say, talent does not expect the number of years ... Mozart composed his first works in six years. I'm seventeen, almost eighteen. It was time that I have recognized my true value..."

Ryan nodded half-word and the two men discussed everything and yet nothing. Ryan to leave, they bowed and promised to regularly review after the first round of Cohen completed. Andrew left the bar and theater around midnight. He found that Alceo waited patiently nearby and they hailed a taxi back to Little Italy.

The driver wished them a happy new year when they came down from the vehicle. In a burst of new year goodness, they made a gift of the race. Alceo was grateful but Andrew insisted on paying what they owed. The driver refused and the young man almost had him put money in hand strength. The driver thanked him and went away. Agenore, who attended carefully to the whole scene asked for explanations to his protégé. Why the hell had he wanted to pay any price?

"The Free is a bad thing, _signore_ Agenore. This driver had done his job, he would be rewarded. Really matter why he wanted us to gift the race, it was bad. A driver does he not have the right to live his races?"

Alceo found nothing wrong with the arguments of Andrew. They went to the grocery store, made a little party and went to bed, exhausted. While he slept, Andrew was thinking about his act with the taxi driver. He felt almost ashamed at the idea of not paying. It was in the natural order of things.

And those who were against this order, for example refusing to pay and thus benefiting society ... they were worthless. They were not even human.

They were only ...

parasites.


	6. Chapter 6

_USA, Thirty-eight years and eleven months earlier_

Andrew rubbed his eyes wearily. He did not feel at ease in the office of notary: the room was tiny, crushed under decorations he considered futile. The lawyer was the image of his office: a small size, face knife, clothes tailored. But even if Ryan was not in the room for fun, it should at least make a good figure. It was good that the memory Agenore.

Alceo died there shortly, a myocardial stunning. He was unloading a milk truck when his heart suddenly dropped. He dropped the bottle he carried, allowing them to break down the followed the movement turn and stopped living before touching the ground. The doctor assured him that he had not had time to suffer. Ryan had made arrangements for the funeral which much of the population of Little Italy had attended.

Andrew found himself thus alone to manage the store. He preferred to close the shop for a few days to get back. And now this beautiful March morning, Master Abercromie, notary and state in charge of business Alceo fire, the summoning. Abercromie had shown kind, presenting his condolences to the young man. Ryan was surprised to be alone in the office of the notary. He knew qu'Agenore had no immediate family but expected to see at least some distant relatives of his protector. The lawyer explained that Alceo had to change his will and that the young man was the sole beneficiary. The notary left the paper from the envelope and began to read:

_"I, Alceo Agenore, healthy in body and mind, I write in this will on July 1, 1920 in the presence of "Master Abercromie", my lawyer. This is my testament. I bequeath all of my property, i.e. the grocery store and all of my belongings to my employee and best friend, Andrew Ryan. I wish him success in life and realize their dreams."_

Andrew needed a long time to come back to earth. Alceo gave the grocery store? To him, the little Russian immigrant who was in America for less than two years? He knew that the Italian appreciated but at this point there ...

Abercromie seemed to enjoy the surprise of Ryan and offered him a glass of whiskey and a cigar. Without really thinking, Andrew agreed. Alcohol and tobacco made the young man well. He had new ideas clear .

"You mean that Agenore's and everything that belonged to me now,Alceo?" Ryan asked.

"Legally". replied the notary. "You are twenty-one?"

"Since last month", Ryan corrected.

Abercromie beat the air in a sign of evidence:

"Then everything is perfectly in order. You are an adult and the owner of Agenore's . What you do depends only on you."

Andrew recovered the deed and left the office of the lawyer. He was still ringing, but failed to really achieve. He had his own groceries! Modest for an employee, it would have been a dream but it had many problems with Ryan. Firstly, at the time, and he had Agenore very difficult to shoot all the work that gave them the store. Now he was alone, the task becomes unfeasible He could hire an employee ... but where to find someone really effective, which could put your heart at work? Someone like him really.

Ryan decided to walk a bit to decide. He chose to walk to Central Park. It was perhaps his favorite place in New York. He loved the trees, the lawn ... it was one of the few places where he felt at peace with himself. The park was beautiful to be practically abandoned, he still exuded a sense of grandeur that really liked the young man. There was much talk of a possible renovation of the John F. Hylan but the current mayor of New York, refused any action.

It was not long to go high park gates. He walked up to find his favorite bench near a lake in the park. He settled there and stretched, letting the sun warm it. Closing his eyes, Andrew forced himself to think. He had when he was barely significant, store alone. But without really knowing why, he disliked the idea. Maybe because he had not won this store by his work but through inheritance. The grocery store was the fruit of the labor of Alceo and deserved to belong to him, even though he was dead.

Andrew decided to lie down to enjoy the sun. While he was running, he felt discomfort in his pocket. He put his hand out to his favorite quarter. He always carried with him. Not as a symbol but as broil. The symbol of success. His pride in all.

Andrew turned it between his fingers. It was a dilemma: he could be content with what he had, i.e. the store and continue to live well. or he could transfer his store to the highest bidder and use the money to start a business. Andrew followed closely the course of the fellowship and he followed them, the more he was convinced that there was much money to be made for someone who thought and ran faster than the others. Andrew and found that it fit this definition perfectly. But there was always the risk of bad investments it makes and finds himself ruined.

Andrew was nice to return the problem in every sense, it was the double or quits. He stared at the quarter as if Washington could give him some advice. After loins minutes of intense reflection, he made a decision. Maybe stupid, perhaps risky, perhaps both: he decided to play his future coin.

He chooses one side of the room for each choice and threw up. Andrew had the impression that all live in slow motion: the room sparkled in the sky, from the face of Washington's number 25 and vice versa. Andrew opened his hand to retrieve his property and find out what would be his fate.

But before he could resume his room, a dirty hand appeared out of nowhere and grabbed it. Ryan incredulously saw an old man in rags closed fist and flee for his life. The last surprise, Andrew flew in pursuit. It was more than a quarter that he stole was his life.

The old man knew perhaps the park but was much slower than the young man who was on his heels in an instant. The man had to slow down when climbing a land abuts and Ryan took the opportunity. He rushed and pinned legs. The two men drove into the ground. Andrew did not lose sight of its purpose in seeking to break into the hand of his opponent. The old man did his best to defend himself but Andrew was just too strong for him.

Finally succeeding to snatch the piece, Ryan hurried to the safe in his jacket pocket. He stood up and dusted in a vain effort to clean his clothes: he would bring them to the cleaners. The thief remained curled up as if he feared that Andrew did pummels.

It was not envy that lacked Andrew but he just go to the old man in a voice full of reproach:

"Why you are trying to rob me?"

"Understand Me, sir", explained the other in a dialect frayed. "I did not want to cause you harm. I was hungry, sir, on the Scriptures!"

"You was hungry?" Ryan repeated like an echo. "And that's because you were hungry ,you have the right to rob me?"

"No You, not you! It's just that... I saw you play with this quarter and am told that it j'me you fail too. It is twenty-five cents."

Ryan felt his heart freeze the

"You is ready to take for a quarter ... for a hundred dollars, you would have killed me?"

The old man lost in negations

"Oh No, I never! I've stolen a little and just because I had no other way of doing things.

"You had another way to do it. Work!"

"Work?" spat the other half laughing. "Just look at what I am! I'm nothing, I sleep in the streets. How can I work?"

"You're looking for excuses. You refuse to work, that is the truth. You prefer to fly and eke out a living. You're a parasite."

"Listen,Sir, I'm sure we can work something out. You recovered yer coin, I'm going in and stays there. Okay?

Andrew shook his head.

_Ho Not ... that's what we'll do.

Ryan threw a wad of cash to foot

"Here, Three hundred dollars. I advise you to grow. I pass them up in a week, if by then with the money you did not do anything to change your life and earn enough to pay me back, I'll take care of you.

Andrew turned and walked away, not even throwing a glance at the old man. He gave his a chance to get out of its cocoon to become a parasite of man, would he take it? Ryan is not even taken the trouble to retry experience coin-face. He had been a fool to entrust his fate to chance. The event had a lesson: if you did not own choices, life took them for you.

Ryan wanted to be alone and maker of his life.

As he had said, Ryan returned a week to the day the old man again. Not finding it in the park, he inquired somewhat after another homeless which indicated that Sam, the man he sought was to be somewhere near the large reservoir, away from the rest of the poor. Ryan then walked there.

He found Sam a moment, guided by the odor of alcohol. He discovered slumped in the middle of a pile of empty bottles. He slept deeply. Ryan unceremoniously awakened him.

"Huh? What"? muttered Sam, quite drunk.

Andrew gave him a black eye:

"I had given you a week. What did you do with the money?"

Sam looked at him and laughed silly.

"Ha, Three hundred dollars? Well, I spent all ,my good sir. on an excellent whiskey believe me ... damn, all my life I had never taken such a bashing..."

Ryan felt his blood freeze. He trusted this man and saw that he had made a mistake.

"You have spent it all?" Andrew asked even though he knew the answer already.

"Every last cent!" laughed Sam.

"I Know..." says Ryan. "Still can leave you a little something to remember?"

"More money?" Sam hoped.

"Not really..." Ryan replied while grabbing an empty bottle and breaking it on a rock nearby. "Not really..."

From the afternoon, Ryan was one of the first to read the newpaper recounted in a various : _"A homeless man who lived in Central Park, known as Sam was disfigured, he appears with a weapon improvised. We did not see the police suspected culprit but another bum._"

Ryan accused hit with a shrug. He did not feel anything special when he was injured. He just wanted to teach him a lesson.

Andrew folded the newspaper and put it in his pocket. He had made his decision... he would see Abercromie to tell him he's Agenore sold to the highest bidder.

Andrew Ryan launched into business. And parasites like Sam who dare to block his path would be eliminated.

"A Forever", Ryan whispered, lighting a cigarette. "A forever."


	7. Chapter 7

_USA, Thirty years and six months earlier_

Andrew Ryan enjoyed a delicious Havana cigar while watching the streets of Manhattan from his office. Thousands and thousands of cars bottling in the hope of reaching the New York Stock Exchange and sell their property before it is too late. Ryan was not part of this mass. He was not going to lose everything, because Ryan was providing. He felt the wind before it on October 29.

Ryan is not really considered richer than three years, when he reached his first million dollars. His story was a lot of envy in rural New York, a man of less than thirty years, came to America from just ten years happened by sheer force of his talent and his willingness to make a fortune from nothing . He was the epitome of the American Dream. Jealous argued that it was impossible that a man who had no support in finance can raise money so quickly without any fraud. However, the fortunes of Ryan was there was more legal. He had honestly earned by playing the stock market.

The small windfall available to him in 1921 by his savings and the sale of groceries had been used to purchase a few securities that had fruited. This value increased, he was able to offer other tires and so on. It was not a risk each and every penny earned was quickly removed from the system and placed in safe securities other than stock market fluctuations. Finally, after five years of hard work, he achieved his first million.

This was when he had the desire to shine in society: newspapers worldwide spoke no longer as Andrew Ryan and his business genius. His money opened the doors of posh clubs of New York and the friendship of the elite of the city. Andrew then took an immoderate taste for the big alcohol, cigars from Cuba and especially for young women. Young, he had never really been popular with the fairer sex. Himself regarded not as ugly but he knew far from being a fashion plate. But now, all young women succumbed to its charms. No one knew if they were interested or if Andrew knew truly seduce her but all fell into his arms. He had become a ladies' man.

And now, seeing these billionaires who ran in all directions, squealing like animals in a hailstorm , Ryan gave a broad smile. These men who believed themselves invincible and endless fortune, that they were facing their worst nightmare: the global ruin. They would lose everything because they were not careful. Idiots, that's what they all were. To live in this land of plenty believing that everything lasted forever. But Ryan knew the truth, he knew it was wrong. He suspected that rate securities were abnormally high. A few months ago, when they burst the ceiling, Ryan had sold everything: mining stocks, agricultural, industrial ... he voluntarily reduced his empire stock to zero. His advisers were opposed, of course, claiming that he was withdrawing as securities would rise further.

And securities had collapsed. There are less than an hour, the Dow Jones lost twenty percent of its value. The wildest rumors were circulating: it is rumored that many billionaires would commit suicide or exchanges of Chicago and Buffalo had closed their doors. looking into the street, Ryan had the impression of seeing the Apocalypse. The world collapsed but it did not was like watching one of the new Technicolor films with cootons characters who ran without knowing where to go.

Ryan pouted disappointment in realizing that his Havana came to an end. With a sigh of disappointment, he put the cigar in the ashtray, letting him off gently. Then he went to the door, ajar and asked his secretary to pick Pedersen and appear immediately. Magnus Pedersen was the courier staff for Andrew Ryan, his representative when he was an imponderable and perhaps he could approach a friend. He was there in less than twenty minutes.

Pedersen's face was incredibly pale, due to a slight albinism. It was small, wore a short beard and always dressed with taste. Magnus curled up in one of the leather armchairs of Ryan, which remains standing to contemplate the city, a new cigar in his mouth.

"Magnus, Tell me", Ryan said, dreamily. "How long do you work for me?"

"Six years, Mr. Ryan" he replied.

Ryan nodded

"Yes, Six years Or 1923. You were my first employee and you have always served and advised.

Magnus did not reply. Ryan does not flatter, he used to be frank. Ryan asked him a question

"What do you think of the current situation, my friend?

"Very serious. You had a very good idea by removing your tracks a few days before the fall classes. You still made a handsome profit but I doubt that's enough. I fear a depression."

"as in 1873?"

_Saut Respect, this term is a misnomer. It was a slow, sluggish, not a depression like we have now.

"Sure that the crisis will be long?

"If I think? I'm sure!" exclaimed Petersen. "We arrive in a vicious circle will close factories, workers lose their jobs, lose their purchasing power will drop requests, production and factories will close. And so on."

"I See" simply let go of Ryan. "What can we do for you?"

Magnus winced

"No ,Much unfortunately. You currently have five million dollars to your personal wealth. The sell-off has brought us a little more million. Say six million. And despite six million, we can not stop the crisis."

Ryan turned to his adviser, angrily:

"Are you trying to tell me that six million dollar mean nothing?"

Magnus raised his arms in a gesture of appeasement. He knew Andrew for a long time and knew he was a natural blood.

"I didn't say that. But it is not for us to stem a crisis that will be long and costly."

"Who then?" exclaimed Ryan. "Who can save this country if it is not those who have the money?"

Magnus hesitated before making his response. He knew that what he would say it,it will increase the anger of his employer by a notch.

"The State". whispered Petersen.

"The State!" Ryan repeated. "Are you telling me that you support the ideas of Keynes? On his stupid economic model?"

Petersen knew he would not mention Keynes. Ryan had always been a hard-lining anti-state. Interventionism lavished by the English economist went against the ideals of Ryan. He continued its momentum.

"The State has nothing to do in the market economy, except monitor the legality of transactions! These are the people who must act, not a conglomerate of vultures!

Angry, Ryan threw his Havana cigar to the ground and trampled it with his foot to try to calm down.

"Keynes even goes against liberalism. Liberalism that has made this country what it is: the first world power.

Magnus said nothing. Anger Andrew were spectacular but did not last long. Already left the red face of the millionaire.

_I Will be clear Petersen. If this country trusts Keynes to get out of business, it is I who would have more confidence in the United States. I left a supranational regime, it is not to fall down between Scylla and Charybdis.

Ryan dropped into his own chair, swimming. He wiped his face with a white handkerchief.

"Here what you do. A million dollars will be reinvested in the stock exchange.

"Pardon? exclaimed Magnus. "Want to invest? But let's see ... the stock market is at a standstill. Courses have never been so low."

"Exactly , Ryan argued. "Securities will decline further a little more. They will be with me for a pittance. And when the securities because they will eventually ascend necessarily back, I'll sell. And then I would have won.

Petersen blinked, shocked. Ryan's proposal stood in the end but it was insane.

"And your millions?"

_J'en Guard when one blow. Another million will be used to create service-fee, it goes without saying, to help people in trouble. The crisis will affect millions of Americans, there is a market for little angel that we act wisely."

Magnus nodded. The draft Ryan made might seem crazy, but the years of his service, he had learned something about the millionaire, he never made an error.


	8. Chapter 8

_USA, twenty-four years and eleven months earlier_

Andrew Ryan absently patted the table in walnut veneer of the table. Before him, remained the reliefs of a meal he had barely touched and a half-empty glass of French wine. Ryan glanced around the room before tiring. He reached out and parted the curtains of the window. He had slid to feel a bit of fresh air. The landscape was passing fast. Oregon State was really a wonderful Andrew had fallen under the spell of its forests and its rivers. He had never taken a vacation and was granted a sabbatical. Is never really out of the State of New York, Ryan had spent months traveling the country trying to discover new landscapes. But tourism came in second position: especially Andrew seeking a nice place to settle when he would retire. Not that he hated the Big Apple, but he believed that the city would move too fast for him when he was old. A pied-a-terre in a secluded setting would suit him perfectly.

Ryan rose from the table and told the waiter he could get rid of. Andrew went a step thoughtfully to his cabin at the end of the wagon. There Petersen found sleeping on the bench. Ryan awoke shaking

"Magnus! Get up!"

Petersen executed grumbling. He rubbed his eyes red with fatigue.

"Sorry, Mr. Ryan, he apologized. "It's the jet-lag."

Andrew shrugged. No matter the background. He sat on the bench that faced the employee.

"I Think I love Oregon, Andrew said, looking out the window.

" , reassure me. We have not done all those miles just for the landscape, is not it?

"Well Course not, Andrew hissed. You think I have time to worry about this nonsense?"

The sentence was false and Ryan knew it. Recent all-time billionaire, he could not let them say it was a frivolous nature. Which gave him so much value to the work would have seemed ridiculous in the eyes of public opinion. For not having to recover before his employee, Ryan grabbed a newspaper lying on the coffee table and began to browse. He pursed his lips in discovering some titles: the New Deal, Roosevelt advocated by the gift of Andrew disgust even of this world. He could not say that the crisis had not been favorable to the contrary: the government ahead and Works Progress Administration that would make in a month, Ryan had provided work for hundreds of thousands of people. So much so that war work was performed with one hand, government workers and on the other hand, those who worked for private companies like Ryan Industries.

Andrew put down the newspaper with the other and sighed. He was rich, immensely rich and yet he did not feel at ease. But money was not an end in itself. He now thought that buying a piece of land in a remote area would do him good.

Andrew Petersen conversation with one thing and another until they arrive at their destination station Eugene, Lane County. Without losing a moment, Andrew grabbed his briefcase and followed by Magnus walked to the town hall. Ryan was quickly received by the mayor asked the purpose of their visit. Ryan went straight to the point:

" , I want to buy all the forests west of the county for my personal use."

"Pardon?" questioned the mayor.

Carefully Magnus repeated word for word what Andrew had said. Mayor thoughtfully stroked his mustache

"I must admit that this is an unusual request. It is simply impossible to buy it ... these forests are state property."

Ryan stopped raising his hand

"It is that I spoke with Governor Charles Henry Martin. A very nice man also. We agreed, I have the endorsement of Oregon", said as he left signed an official paper.

Just like the mayor, Magnus looked at his boss with bulging eyes. He did it? He persuaded Martin? It was true that like Ryan, Martin was firmly opposed to the New Deal but then to convince him to give up his ally forest ...

Petersen spoke again

"Since we have the backing of the state, you have no way to oppose this decision. Do not worry though, I'm sure Mr. Ryan will buy the land at a fair price."

The mayor seemed to hesitate

" , it is obvious that I can not oppose a decision of the Governor... but I beg you to reconsider your decision. This forest is considered sacred by many Protestants that can appeal to Congress."

"Congress?" Ryan spat. "Do you think Congress will deal with a case at the other end of the United States because these religious peoples have asked?" Seriously, Mr. Mayor. I have several hundreds of thousands of dollars for this forest. I'm not a thief."

The mayor had no choice but to surrender and gave the deed to Andrew. Satisfied, the latter left Eugene to get to his new land. The forest he had just purchased was not very far from the city, he and Magnus were there a few hours. When he saw her, Andrew fell under its charm while he liked her. He loved its tall trees, the emerald or birdsong. He felt around in the because it reminded him of their forest in Russia, he knew nothing. But he knew he had a good deal.

They were in the forest for many hours when a group of people, dressed soberly advanced towards them. Andrew had a dislike for them before they even opened their mouths. The group's leader, an old man, spoke on behalf of others. He stared and Andrew Magnus looked cold and disapproving.

"You are in the land of God", he said abruptly.

"Like It! exclaimed Ryan taking a look surprised. "Excuse me, I thought we were on my property."

"You have no right to tread this holy ground" told a member of the group.

"You either" Ryan cried. "You are on private property and I will ask you to leave."

The oldest individual spoke again:

"I can assure you that you make a terrible mistake in doing so. You should turn the forest into a national park: would it not fair that everyone benefits?"

Ryan's tone was harsh:

"Profit my forest? This forest that I bought with my money in my work? I do not know if you're crazy or try to dethrone Charlie Chaplin in his comic role."

Magnus stifled a laugh. Ryan enjoyed little Chaplin's films, it was a secret. But Andrew was far from finished:

"Now", Said he, enunciating each word, you're going to get the hell out. There will be no park here. Now band noise if you do not want me to call the police for trespassing, and you clear out faster than that!"

Thundered the religious gaze but had finally back. Left alone, Andrew and Petersen watched and laughed. Invincible laughter, which caused him to sit on the floor to calm down.

"Good blood", he hissed when his mirth had subsided. It was really funny."Petersen frankly, you can believe it?"

Magnus did not share the mood of his boss

"Ryan, The mayor has warned that the Protestant Church was here. We must expect problems."

"It would be no problem", Ryan assured. "This forest belongs to me legally, right? Just as Ryan Industries or my Manhattan apartment."

Petersen nodded. Ryan was right once again. Magnus leaned against a tree and watched the forest. Andrew was right, it was sublime. He eventually ask him a question:

"Tell Me Mr. Ryan, the forest ... do you baptize? She has no name as such, people here simply call it the Forest of Eugene."

Ryan frowned for a moment. Then lip he murmured:

"Elation. This is an appropriate name."

Petersen could easily understand the choice of the name: it is true that such a feeling of fullness emerged from the forest such a title was needed.

"Come Petersen, Ryan finally said, rising. I'm curious to see what Elation reserve has other surprises ...

He did not take a month to enter religion at the highest levels and try to withdraw his title to Ryan. They had tried to get the support of the State and Counties. This support had been denied. They were now the case before Congress. The case was inflamed, if the Senate majority supported the nationalization of religious and Elation, the House of Representatives gave its approval to Andrew Ryan and the right to private property. Ryan had to defend himself in person in Washington, while taking numerous trips to monitor Elation well. He had personally planted seeds in a few years that should germinate.

The judgment was delivered in December, a few days before Christmas. Nationalization of Elation was voted seventy votes against sixty-seven. Ryan was ordered to hand the title to the Governor of Oregon and vacate on the January 1. On the evening of New Year's Eve, Ryan walked in what was still the forest for a few hours. He had refused to accompany Petersen for this trip.

Ryan enjoyed a cigar while watching the stars twinkle above Elation. Looks like the parasites had won ... but Andrew Ryan was not the type to lose without doing anything. He went to his car and pulled out two heavy cans of kerosene. He poured the liquid over a wide area and left the cans on site. They'll burn with the rest. Ryan released the deed of his pocket and after rereading the last time, he put his Havana cigar on the paper twisted and began to burn. He threw the sheet in the kerosene ,burning flared immediately.

Ryan made a gesture of instinctive defense when the fire started and went to consume Elation. Then slowly while the fire spread Elation, he returned to his car, the engine was revving and had already made several hundred meters when the cans exploded, sealing the fate of the forest in the fall. Ryan glanced at his pocket watch: it was midnight. Elation belonged to the government now. It was only when he was in Eugene he deigned to return to watch the red glow in the sky. He smiled.

He has gentlemen parasites? he said, addressing the shadows. Do not you enjoy my gift for the new year? Sorry, but I have to offer it in ashes..."


	9. Chapter 9

_USA, Fourteen-year and seven months earlier_

Andrew was lying on his chaise, a glass of brandy in hand. He raised it to his lips, but not long to rest beside her with violence. He was furious. Enraged same. He stood and watched the street through the blinds: a huge crowd massed in the streets, celebrating the end of the war that dragged on for four years in the United States. Andrew moved away from the window. Idiots!

They celebrated what? Victory? More 4,100,000 men had fallen for their country, a tiny drop in the ocean millions of deaths in this World War II. Second yes ... as if the first was not they were celebrating? Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Cities blown by an atomic bomb like candles at a birthday party? Ryan's worst nightmare come true: see Science parasites. A science that would elevate humans above the mire where he came out and grow and magnify. Andrew loved science. But what they had did in Japan was unacceptable. The war itself was hateful killing there ... but Andrew had no words to tell him how much it lifted the heart and entrails. Infect. Infect. Infect!

In all honesty, Andrew would have been difficult to criticize this war had its plants at full capacity, providing military equipment to all the Allied Powers. Ryan was more than a billionaire. Now he was a multi-billionaire. It could just be offer: villas, precious furniture, cars, finest food in the world ... but it sounded hollow. He did not know what to think of his life. He was forty-five years old. Certainly, his success was obvious: after all, he was on this earth for twenty-five years and made his fortune very quickly. He was the epitome of the American Dream. He had become rich not by illegal means but only through his work. Of course, as employees Petersen had helped. But he could not help but take all the glory to him. Without him at the top, these employees would have remained obscure no-grades instead of entering Ryan Industries and get a title. Because in the end, Ryan was working for almost a title: it meant that you were worthy of the huge requirement of this man and you were very competent. Andrew thought about Petersen. He felt his eyes mist up. There never find an employee and a friend like , in a burst of patriotism stupid, was engaged in fighting the Axis powers. He was among the dead. Andrew had sought to know how to be able to mourn but the army refused. "Secret Defense" had the answer. To him, Andrew Ryan, the most powerful man in the country behind President of the United States! But Ryan knew bargain: some promises it from there a few tickets slipped into the pocket of some leaders untied many languages. Andrew did not feel like a bribe. A man who corrupts did for profit. Ryan did for the truth. He wanted to know how his best friend was dead.

And one night in a shady bar Hell's Kitchen, Sergeant stunned by alcohol began to speak. Magnus fell heroically in combat but not as had officials said. Petersen died at the Battle of Iwo Jima in the attempting predre meatgrinder with his comrades. Andrew had expected that Magnus is gunned by the Japanese but was shocked when he discovered that Petersen had been shot by his own troops while trying to escape. Here that America put to death from his own ... so he had not cried since the murder of his family in 1919, Ryan broke into tears at the bottom of the bar had lost more than a friend or a counselor. He had lost a brother. To believe that part of the Ryan family, even symbolically, always led to a violent death.

It was further proof of its creed that was needed to Ryan. The worst invention of man was not even war, slavery or mass murder. All this was the result. The cause was different. A false ideal, created to handle: altruism.

Altruism, this is the worst human inventions. It was a perfect way to manipulation how a war could take place without altruism? Generals relied on the enthusiasm of the troops to fight for a cause that was not theirs. They told them to follow their leader, their king, their president, their god ... but never for themselves. They fought for them, they would never went to the front, leaving their generals fighting among themselves like children in a playground. Altruism ultimately was a huge ...

"Bullshit" Ryan spat in his living room.

He took the bottle of brandy and drank from the bottle. He relied on alcohol to calm his rage, but he did that stir. Emptying the bottle for a moment, he sent flying against the wall where it broke. The wallpaper was stained but Andrew did not care. He had the means to rival the Empire State Building.

"Bullshit" He repeated. Man is not made to serve a cause other than his own. Individualism and liberalism is what drives people in the right direction. It is like a chain that unites us all. And if we all work in our own interest, the chain moves in the right direction.

Brutalized by the brandy, Ryan fell back on his meridian. His head was spinning but he could not help but find that his words rang true. A great chain of industry and effort, which pushed the company into the future. But this chain should be burdened with any government interventionist. It must at all costs avoid the capitalist systems in the U.S. or the USSR Communist. It is thinking of all the things he fell asleep.

It was then that he began to dream. Surprisingly about him: he dreamed of nothing since his departure from Russia. In this dream, Andrew was much younger, twenties dressed as he arrived at Ellis Island. He swam in deep water where light seemed irresistibly attract. Strangely, he was not breathing and he swam effortlessly. He approached the light and saw a city. An underwater city, like New York with its large art deco buildings. There was life in the city, Andrew could feel it. A real life, not a sham. A world of peace, far from the world of strife swam into the tallest building where people made a guard of honor to welcome the master of the city. With astonishment, he realized that the master of the city was none other than himself. Ryan was taken to the top of the building, on a golden throne. From his position, he dominated the whole city. And in big letters he saw the motto of this city: "Neither gods nor kings, only man." And Andrew could not help but approve.

He awoke hours later, a terrible hangover him for a mate. Staggering, Andrew grabbed a bottle of water and drank several glasses on to quench his thirst. He collapsed in his favorite chair and tried to forget the pain that launched the skull. Calmed down, he thinks about his dream. It was a dream, nothing more but he seemed so real ... it could affect fish that brushed. He had in him as a sense of obligation. As if he had built this city. A city where utopia would reign, where the chain would be required to master. A world where parasites are expelled and destroyed. A haven of peace.

Ryan got up and staggered to his phone. He called the center and asked the operator to pass the architects with whom he did business. When Ryan had his architect online it was direct: he fixed an appointment immediately at home. The architect bowed can not say no to Andrew Ryan.

* * *

Before the architect arrives, Ryan took the time to change and gava of aspirin tablets. Clean and shaved if account were taken of his eternal black mustache, Ryan had a far more presentable than before. Andrew received his architect, Jones in his veranda.

Jones was a gigantic man, both in size and the corpulence. Bald as an egg, he had always refused to wear a wig. Jones shook hands with his client and sat in front of him.

"Then tell me, why did you want to see me so soon?

"The Project that we will achieve requires no lost time. The project that I will tell you is daunting, both in its scale and impact."

Jones contented himself with nodding his head politely. Ryan had a sense of excess, he knew. What would be great if this project?

"Straight to the point, says Andrew. I want you build a city for me?"

"A City? Well, the thing is..."

Ryan stopped over to continue his sentence:

"It is not a single city. It will be a submerged city.

"A Underwater city?"

The tone was slightly mocking Jones.

"Mr. Ryan, what you ask is simply impossible to build an entire city would take years but a city under water... you're not serious are you?"

"I Am," said Andrew. "More serious than ever. Jones,you know me, it is thanks to my business and finances if your firm is flourishing. So you will think of this and bring me a model in one in a month, if the model is not ready, I will seek another architect."

Jones had to pinch his nose to make sure that he had heard. Ryan had to order him to build a city underwater and bring him the model of the project in a month! With time so short, he could never meet its deadlines! Unless ...

"Mr. Ryan, Jones said, "Maybe I can do what you ask me. But it will cost billions of dollars."

Andrew shrugged

"And Then? The advantage of being multibillionaire, is that we have money. Do not disappoint me Mr. Jones. This city is a symbol if you succeed. It must be."

"Well", Jones replied simply. "Do you have a particular name for this project?"

Ryan lost his eyes in the distance. Then a muffled voice, almost in a whisper, he whispered:

"Rapture."

Jones nodded, asked a few minutiae and went. Left alone in the veranda, Andrew allowed a cigarette.

"The City of the Impossible would finally see the light by his work."


	10. Chapter 10

_Atlantic Ocean, thirteen years and five months earlier._

Andrew Ryan pressed his white linen handkerchief against his lips. He was ashamed to admit it, who had traveled on the same ocean in atrocious conditions but he was sick as a dog. Finally, it was true that the Atlantic circulation had nothing to do with flying over, like now. Strangely, this would be the first time Andrew was flying. He had traveled by train, boat, car, truck, horse... but never by air.

Andrew turned to the driver and asked if they were still for long. The man replied that they would arrive in a few hours. Cursing inwardly, Andrew tried to focus on its records to forget his airsickness. The project was well advanced. A little over a year after the green light is given, Rapture was built. Ryan's fortune had almost entirely disappeared. But a dream like Rapture worth every penny. After much deliberation, Andrew had decided to build the city at the bottom of the Atlantic, between Iceland and Greenland. The area was deserted enough for them to be left in peace. On paper, much like Rapture in New York with large skyscraper art deco style.

The construction of Rapture had asked them fewer problems than expected is impossible to build the city directly under the water, we had built a huge glass cage sealed designed to withstand the pressure, with a huge pipe. Once the cage weighted at the bottom of the water, it was simply pumped water to create a vacuum zone. Finally, it was used to route the pipe material and labor to build the city. When an area of the city was completed, we had to move the cage and water engulfed the new neighborhood. Currently, Rapture was not extensive but Ryan had planned to continue to expand the city from within. It was a huge project, but Andrew was hopeful.

Swerve driver forced him to support his handkerchief harder against his mouth. Andrew thought he heard they were finally going to happen. He let out a long sigh of relief. Indeed, a dark stood substantially to the surface of the water. They were soon close enough to the point to distinguish the true nature: a lighthouse. A huge lighthouse in the middle of the ocean, miles from civilization known. A passenger ship was moored there. Andrew smiled they realized they were the first Rapturiens?

The plane splashed down not without shaking the back end of the billionaire's stomach. It is therefore unsteadily but no less determined that trod the stone of the building. He climbed the steps four to four and turned to face the boat. That's when he actually saw the impact of its advertising campaign: hundreds of people massed on the boat, which was not without reminding him his own trip to Ellis Island. Men, women and children who had responded to his call. If he had not hated religion, it would be compared to a prophet. The crowd cheered and the first time he had to show leadership to be heard through the cheers of the masses:

"My name is Andrew Ryan."

Entry in, but instead he preferred this option.

"Allow me ask you a question: Is man entitled to the sweat of his brow...?"

Enthusiastic applause erupted from the crowd.

"No, Says the man in Washington. It belongs to the poor."

Few boos were heard.

"No, Says the man in the Vatican. It belongs to God."

This time, laughter mingled with boos.

"No,Says the man in Moscow. It belongs to the people."

An uproar broke out in the crowd. Ryan smiled. At least, it was good.

"I chose to ignore and reject those answers. I chose a different path. I chose the impossible. I chose..."

He stopped for a moment noticing that the whole mass hung from his lips. He opened his arms and gestured at the lighthouse.

"Rapture... A city where the artist would not fear the wrath of the censors. Where scientists are not bound and bothered by weak ethics and morality. Where the Great would not be controlled by the small. And the sweat of your brow, the city can be yours as well**."**

It was delirium on the boat. The entire crowd screamed his name, shouted applause. Took a dramatic surge, Ryan greeted as if he'd do a show. He had thought amused at the thought that the situation would surely pleased Sander Cohen.

Think his friend was doubt: where was therefore the artist? In the end, he had not seen since the Winter Garden Theater. He had echoes concerning but that was all. Cohen he drove his thoughts. The artist was not on the agenda. Today, it was him, that Andrew Ryan cheered.

Ryan was followed by the crowd inside the lighthouse. He reveled in their surprise discovering his immense chest bearing the banner "Neither Gods nor Kings, only Man." He delights in seeing their wonderment copper plates bearing the image of the city and its values: Art and Industry. He charmed fear of seeing the famous bathysphere unique link with Rapture. Ryan reserved the first trip. He entered the unit and pushed the joystick. During transport, he fixed his gaze on the only thing worthy of the name of wonder: his city, Rapture.

Certainly, the workers had worked well. Rapture was a jewel at the bottom of the ocean: A underwater replica of Manhattan,New York, without smoke pollution or gray sky. A place where freedom could really express themselves, without being hampered by parasites. Elation like parasites but not to force it to destroy it. This time Andrew felt whole. He was forty-six years and for the first time in his life, he was happy, truly happy. As he felt his eyes mist up. He wiped a tear from the index. It seemed to be a father.

The ride was fast: it took just five minutes for the unit to the lead in his city. It is out of the bathysphere he saw how things were different views inside. Behind the windows and sliding doors, millions of liters of water and in the latter, Ryan could see many fish and even saw a whale go near him. It was just wonderful. Too crazy to be true and yet ...

Without losing a moment, Andrew went straight ahead and progressed to large living area that was just built. He sat for a moment and looked up to try to see the sky. He did not succeed. It was the sky would have meant that the city was not quite well hidden.

Ryan then passed through a long tube of communication. He gasped in fear when a huge whale brushed through the tube. Andrew noted to find a way so that the animals do not damage the city. This is after several minutes that Andrew came to Rapture Metro and programmed the bathysphere that lead him to his office. On the way, Ryan could admire far parts of the city still under construction. The founding of Rapture would take time but the result is up to his expectations.

Arrived at the Heart of Hephaestus who was none other than the center of geothermal energy production of Rapture, Andrew rushed to Central Control, quickly crossed the great hall which was the threshold of his private quarters. He climbed several stairs before finally arriving at his desk and sank into his chair. He smiled. Everything was perfect. Nothing could happen to would prosper, free from parasites and religion. It will become a true Eden.

And its founder was none other than himself, Andrew Ryan, born Andrei Artiomovitch Rydjii. A Russian driven from his country by the Marxists, disappointed by the US a billionaireatheist and anti-religious at the head of a fortune and considerable power. It was all that and more. In fact, a sentence his father suddenly returned in memory, so clearly he could believe that it had been decided at the time not many years ago. "A man chooses, and a slave obeys." Long ago, he had not fully understood the meaning of this sentence, but now everything is illuminated. The slave was prevented, both physically and morally. Instead, the man was free to do the most natural thing in the world of choice. Choose his profession, his family, his goal, his future, his slave did not have that luxury.

Ryan began to establish some ground rules for his city could not run a city without law or anarchy would reign supreme.

*The first rule was that: Rapture had not been built at the bottom of the ocean for nothing. Contact with the outside world was strictly prohibited. Their secret was their best defense. It was enough that parasites find this place to come and defile it. If this happens, serious sanctions will be taken against violators.

*The second was that of Parasites: if everything was done for external parasites do not harm Rapture, should not that thieves or rogue are born within it. Vandalism, theft, taking advantage of society... all this was strictly forbidden.

*The third and final act was that of Liberty: there was no straitjacket Rapture, it was the essence of liberalism. As long as your actions does not hinder the proper functioning of the city, you were free of your actions. Free to think, speak, and of course to take.

Three unique laws for Eden. It seemed right. Andrew copied these laws on a paper promising to promulgate them the next day. But a question arose in his mind: although no control was to take place, it was nevertheless a power up. Would that to enforce these laws. A single leader at the head of the city was out of the question: Ryan believed in freedom, not commissions would only block the system and would be iff. Andrew leaned for a single Council composed of a small number of members. An odd number, so that a majority is always possible. Ryan gave up the leadership of the Council, after all, was it not the legal owner of Rapture? Other Board members come from different branches of city security, merchants, civil ... Andrew opted for democratic elections for these members, himself remaining perpetually at the head of the Council.

He nodded. Everything was perfect. He activated the screens to see the first Rapturiens discover the city. He smiled before returning to work.

There was still much to do.


	11. Chapter 11

_Rapture, eleven years and ten months earlier_

"It does not matter!" Ryan roared banging his fist on the table so hard that the impact was felt in its full width.

"Please control yourself."

Disregarding warnings, Andrew rose abruptly.

"Have you all forgotten the first rule of Rapture? The Secret?"

He planted his gaze into the eye of each of the Board members. These were frightened for a moment. Seeing weakened, Ryan drove the nail

"All Rapturiens vowed to follow the three rules. In violating a rule of the largest is bad for the safety of our city. That's why I refuse to pardon the condemned."

The young man, hands bound by chains, bowed his head. At the other end of the table, in the area reserved for the family of the accused, a woman collapsed in sobs. Ryan shrugged before concluding.

"By established laws, any decision of the Council which would result in a tie shall be decided by the Head of the Council. I decided. No thanks.

The two Board members who were in turn approved of a nod. The other two looked down and said nothing. Ryan sat back and just gave a look at the young man who stood shackled before him:

"Lloyd Ferguson of nineteen years is guilty of smuggling. He endangered our community. Accordingly he will be detained in the custody of the officer Sullivan."

He snapped his fingers and immediately, the imposing silhouette of Sullivan appeared out of nowhere and took Ferguson out of the room. Ryan allowed himself a quiet smile. Sullivan was a man really effective. He had reason to give him the post of chief of security.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the meeting was adjourned."

The board did not take long to pack up and leave the meeting room. Ryan put the affairs in order and checked some documents before to go also. Everyone was gone, except for the Ferguson family. The woman who had burst into tears walked timidly to the master of the city.

"Mr Ryan. Please. Review your judgment."

"Why Would I? Ryan blew through it before. He knew the law and he decided to break it. Criminal responsibility."

"But he is a minor!" wailed the mother. "He was not able to..."

"No ,Still able?"

Ryan's voice was filled with rage. He leaned toward the mother and forced to retreat slightly.

"At his age, I had to flee my country to escape the fate of my family. I have virtually travel across Europe without food or rest. I boarded only to the United States, I arrived without a penny in his pocket. And through my work, it took me ten years to become a millionaire. So do not tell me he is not able to understand what he has done or take care of themselves."

The mother remained quite quiet, her lower lip trembling slightly. Ryan wished her a good day and left the room. He felt a little more at peace: the arrests of the parasites always put him in a good mood. It surprised even whistling a song from Jack Hylton as he walked into a large tube that connected the buildings with each other. Took a doubt, he consulted his agenda. It was now he had to meet one of these arrivals. Obvious but unspoken rule of the city: no one could go into business without the approval of the Head of the Council. But Andrew was extremely lax. Finally, as the third rule was respected, Ryan gave his consent.

Ryan hurried on. He hated being late. Especially when he had to report to the settlers. This gave a bad image of the administration of Rapture.

Finally ,he was not late and just in time. The colon was waiting as agreed at the restaurant terrace Kashmir. This should be one of the restaurants Ryan. The dishes were delicious, alcohol perfect, divine waitresses ... what more? Ryan greeted some knowledge first before going to sit at the table of the colon. A wisp of smoke rose from the cup that man sipped. He asked to shake hands with Ryan.

" .. I'm Frank Fontaine."

"Nice See you , . How do you find Rapture?"

"Oh! Beautiful... absolutely beautiful."

It was without doubt the master of flattery came to the Rapture but Ryan smiled slightly. It was true. Rapture was beautiful. He corrected himself: it was a marvel. A waitress approached their table and asked what it would take Andrew. He allowed himself a moment of reflection. Then, thinking that his day's work was over:

"A Whiskey. I would drink with more pleasure if it is you who serve me."

The waitress took a deliberately offended air

" ... I bet you say that to all women..."

He planted his gaze into her green eyes and he served his most seductive smile

"Only to those that are."

The waitress blushed instantly. She tried to hide it but seeing that it was getting worse her condition, she rushed into the restaurant. Ryan let out a small laugh. Before morning, the waitress would probably in his sheets. It was too easy. That's how he did it: some beautiful words, a natural charisma, a great confidence ... it worked with all the blows.

He turned to Fontaine

"I believe it is unnecessary to remind you of the three rules, is not it?

Fontaine took a sip of his coffee

"I've heard. Do not worry: even if I'm only here for a few days, I know I follow the rules:

"It is better for you. A smuggler of nineteen years was sentenced to prison for violating the first rule."

Fontaine raised an eyebrow:

"A Life?"

Ryan was about to reply when the waitress came to their table with a glass of iced beer. Reaching out to take his beer, Andrew touched the fingers of the young woman.

"Sweetheart. I owe you?"

"Two Dollars, Mr. Ryan," the waitress chuckled.

Ryan gave her a five.

"You keep the change. But on one condition."

"who Is?" she asked curious

"I invite you to a show in Fort Frolic tonight."

The waitress pretended to think for a few seconds before starting a chuckle.

"OK" She said finally putting the ticket in his pocket. At tonight.

And she left. Ryan watched her go before apologizing to Fontaine.

"Sorry. I always have trouble remembering when a beautiful woman passes in my field of vision", Andrew said with a smile.

Fountain to cool blew his coffee and took a sip:

Problem. I understand very well.

Fontaine left blank before continuing:

"You have great power here, Mr. Ryan.:

Andrew put his glass of beer after a little relished.

"Can be". This is not so much the position but the will that creates the power. I think every man is able to have power. Just take it."

_No Doubt.

New white. The two men drank a little of their respective drinks.

"Mr. Ryan... can we start to our business?"

"Well of course."

"Well. As you know, I intend to start a business and I need your blessing."

Andrew sketched a face at the announcement of the religious term but tried not to let it show.

"You do not need any..."

Ryan looked his words

"...Green light from me. As long as you follow the third rule ,you are free to do what you want."

Fontaine laughed

"Mr. Ryan! Everyone knows that here nothing is done without your consent."

"Just because I represent the Council. I'm not the decision maker."

But Ryan felt he spoke true. The Council followed him blindly and in rare cases of disagreement, it was enough to shake a bit to get satisfaction.

"Speak true. What do you do here?"

"Fishing"

"Fishing?" Ryan repeated.

"Yes. We are at the bottom of the Atlantic, in thousands of cubic meters of water. Billions of fish swim not far from here. Imagine we could eat crabs, tuna, salmon..."

Ryan stopped him with a hand gesture. He did not want an enumeration of fish longer.

"Why Not?"

Fontaine's face lit up:

"Thank you, Mr. Ryan! I swear you will not regret trusting me. You see, I have big plans for Rapture!"

Smiling, Ryan emptied his glass before getting up and putting a hand on the shoulder of Fontaine

"I doubt it. You have the ambition is good. But it is also the will. Remember that it is not iron or concrete built these walls. These are ideas."

Ryan bowed before go whistling. He loved this Fontaine. He had the ambition and energy to spare. They were men like this that come to Rapture.

Ryan returned to his apartment to freshen up before resting. He wanted to relax before the evening Fort Frolic. The area had just opened and was promised a wonderful surprise. It is passing his mirror he stopped a moment. He saw his reflection, of a man approaching fifty, who had worked hard most of his life. A builder of worlds. The creator of the Eden. Finally, religion was banned in the city. Ryan tolerate the limit faith when it was strictly personal. Ryan did not believe in an invisible man in the sky. He believed in a united effort.A Great Chain that pushed the company in the right direction. He had to work hard on his side. Help others too returned to feed the parasites. Ryan was not yet against any aid but had to help push this person to work.

After a quick dinner, he went to Fort Frolic. He had always found silly name but he had at least the merit of drawing curiosity. Rapture life revolved around work: it was a place where Rapturiens could decompress. Ryan felt that leisure was perfectly acceptable after a good day's work.

Much of the area was still under construction and most of the shops and casinos had not yet opened. The Rapture Theatre, the Fleet Hall had been baptized and was the first to then went there, accompanied by the waitress met in Kashmir. On this occasion, he learned that his name was Alexandra. She wore a green bottle that accorded with his divine had opted for a classic tuxedo with red bow tie blood. He smiled at the crowd gathered around the Fleet Hall. Dozens and dozens of people gathered to try to enter and get one of the precious tickets. The crowd split to let Ryan and his rider. Several women in the audience threw a dark look at the waitress. They would have loved to be in the arms of the master of Rapture but few were elected last long. Ryan as a man to women, made a point of honor not to engage and change regularly companion.

The pair crossed the high gates and Ryan went to the window. With a big smile, the director came to see him and told him that his place was already booked and paid in advance. Andrew muttered. He did not like to pay for him, it made him uncomfortable. But pay might be wrinkled his patron. He resigned himself to say nothing and for once, to enjoy his gift.

Ryan and Alexandra were taken to the Grand Lodge of the theater. Since she had a breathtaking view of the auditorium and the stage. Andrew noticed that the room was empty. They were the first. He watched with delight decoration: piano on stage, paneling, soft lighting ... to believe that Hall had had made for him.

Few minutes after the couple had installed, spectators filled the hall. Ryan smoothed his mustache thoughtfully: he was impatient with the show. Finally, after a time that seemed endless, the lights went out, leaving the theater manager go on stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to our brand new theater!

Much applause were heard. The manager smiled and continued to speak:

"I would foremost thank our beloved head of the Council for his help in the life of every day!"

The applause became more fed. Ryan bowed politely, without ostentation. He did not like the cult of personality that he vowed the Rapturiens but they adored him. So it had to do with.

"This night for the first, I would like to give a gift to Mr. Ryan.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. What would be his gift?

"A Exceptional gift for an exceptional man. Please make a triumph for Mr. Sander Cohen!"

Petrified, Andrew was unable to say a word. Had he heard? Cohen? The Cohen? His friend? For a moment he thought he had misheard or that it was a joke. But when he saw the artist appear, Ryan left a huge smile light up his face.

Cohen seemed to emerge from the wings like a heck of a box in an evening dress brand new. He might have aged, it was he, no doubt about it. Ryan calculated how long he had not seen ... thirty years? Andrew corrected to itself. Twenty-eight years.

Cohen trotted in front of the stage and bowed. The room applauds shyly. Ryan knew that Cohen did not have the international reputation he hoped. Ultimately damage. Cohen had a real talent. He was very proud indeed. But he was right.

Cohen greeted a few minutes before sitting at the grand piano. Without making any speech, he began to play. Ryan took only a second before recognizing the song that his friend had played New Year's Winter Garden Theatre. And as twenty-eight years ago, Andrew felt his eyes mist up when he heard the melody again.

Cohen played for two whole hours. Each piece was even better than the last. When the concert stopped, the room was a triumph for the artist. Ryan was up first and even had applauded get hurt.

He waited just sits Cohen to join him. The artist talked with a few spectators parted to let Ryan. The two men fell into the arms of one another.

"Sander!" Ryan spat, delighted. If you know how pleased I am to see you.

It was true.

"Hello, Andrew!" Cohen dropped smiling. "How are you? I see you well."

"Very well. As you can see," he said, kissing the room look, "I think I can answer yes, luck smiled."

"This Is not a story of luck ,Andrew, we know very well."

Ryan left fuser chuckled.

"This True."

Indeed, luck or fate had nothing to do with it. It was because he had shown that he will have to overcome obstacles and build an incredible world.

"And You Sander? Do you think you are successful?"

The artist pouted.

"I was somewhat bored in Europe, but nothing extraordinary.

Ryan nodded silently. He had heard echoes about the artist including his megalomaniacal character had alienated the sympathy of the entertainment world. Andrew put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Do not worry. Here, I am sure you will be recognized for your fair value. Because do not forget to Rapture, the artist does not fear the wrath of the censors."

"This what I heard."

Ryan smiled corrected

"That is true. Come and see me in my office when you have a little time ,Sander."

"Why Right away?" objected the artist. "can I finished my chatting with my fans and we will have time."

"I would love to but as you see..."

Ryan ran his gaze to Alexandra

"I have important business waiting for me.

Cohen realized and his face broke into a knowing smile.

"well heard. Have a good night, my friend."

Ryan gave him a polite nod and left the theater in the arm of Alexandra. They went together and he accompanied her to her home. He had only kissed her on the doorstep for it to come, leaving the door ajar.

Yes, Ryan thought entering whistling in the apartment of the waitress. With women, it was really easy.


	12. Chapter 12

_Rapture, five years and nine months earlier_

* * *

Ryan brought the flower to his nose and breathed deeply. The fragrance of the rose filled his whole body. He loved flowers in general and especially roses. But because of his superhuman lifestyle , he never had time to do it. And now a true field of roses lay at his feet now. Finally, so to speak, as the flowers themselves were separated by a large bay window. The master of Rapture rose slowly and stretched his tired muscles. He sent a smile to the scientist who stood behind him.

"You have done a wonderful job, Professor Langford. Bravo."

Langford could not hide the blush that came to her cheeks. If her work had attracted Andrew Ryan, she fully deserved his place among the great Rapture. She was almost amused to see Ryan get to almost romping with flowers and plants in Arcadia.

Arcadia.

The name sounded like a prize to the ears of Langford. It was the culmination of his scientific career and redeem his sins. She still remembered, there was not so long ago Ryan had charge of a mission. Build an arboretum in Rapture. Work that might seem impossible: how to grow plants at the bottom of the ocean? And yet it did. a paradise in paradise. Arcadia but was more than just a common garden or an arboretum. it was a vital place for all Rapture, Why? Rapture was a problem simple: one of the main needs of the human being was oxygen. Without air, it was certain death. Now, Rapture was caulked in the depths of the Atlantic. And unless a very rapid evolution of the species, the inhabitants of the city could not head into the water to pull their oxygen. Ryan had initially alleviated this problem by building large pipes dating back to the surface, responsible for conducting air from the surface into Rapture. But the process was slow and inefficient. And most importantly, Ryan disapproved the idea of depending on the surface, if only to breathe. Then he had an idea: it was the trees that by their action, brought oxygen. So why not grow by itself? The project name "Arcadia" Langford had displeased but she knew to put the interests before personal taste.

Ryan turned his gaze on the green grass of Arcadia laying flower on the worktable Langford.

"Really ,Professor. You have at least as much talent when it comes to growing plants that destroying them."

Langford accused the coup without saying anything. Ryan was in the past for Current course. He knew that for years, she worked for the U.S. Army, developing defoliants they are the worst to fight Japan. Langford blamed herself terribly. She had killed the islands. His brain was manufactured weapons, worked for the war. It was for this reason that in 1946, she emigrated to Rapture to find a place where consciousness cease to torment. Arcadia was far from over, particularly the waterfall had many problems but overall it was satisfactory overall.

Ryan straightened his tie.

"Arcadia will enable our people to enjoy the benefits of plants. Did you know that some children born into Rapture had never seen tree of life?"

Langford did not answer the rhetorical question Ryan. The Rapture master handed him a small note that usually used to transmit commands.

"Mr Ryan. I find it hard to understand."

"Just read. I want you manufacture a defoliant. The most powerful one ever made."

On hearing this word, Langford relives Berkeley and Iwo Jima. She saw the trees bend and lose their leaves, be covered with a film of rot and become dust. Ryan had ordered him to ask him why Arcadia a way to destroy it?

"Why?" asked dryly scientist.

"You do not have to know the teacher."

Langford estimated the losing battle. That is why she bowed her head in submission:

"OK. I'll do what you asked me. But it will cost you a defoliant."

"No Problem," says Andrew shrugged. I am a rich man.

And after a brief goodbye, he left the office of Langford. He had to go to her office to receive Rapturiens in hearing. He might hate this aspect of his work, he had to Rapture. The head of the Council must ensure the well-being of its people and know what their concerns. Luckily, the metro-the term was used to refer bathyspheres travel-was only a few paces away from that Ryan had left. Outside, he delights to feel the green grass under his feet. That is until his bathysphere that Ryan thought about the defoliant. It might seem curious Arcadia is barely over, he wanted a weapon capable of destroying it. Elation was but still in his memory. And if an incredible twist of fate, Arcadia escaped him, he had to destroy. But not by fire as in Oregon: a fire in a confined space such as Rapture and the whole city was disappearing under carbon monoxide. No, it was a clean and defoliant was ideal.

The trip took some time to win the Heart of Hephaestus and then his office. He admired his great hall quickly with its tall columns and passed the heavy security door leading to his office. He bowed his secretary and told him to bring the first person while he settled. He looked over his schedule and saw that the first recipient was Dr. Bridgette Tenenbaum. She was smoking a cigarette while waiting. The taste of the shellfish was bad for the moment. He had not yet made these replacement tobacco cigarettes As Tenenbaum elsewhere.

Tenenbaum was a former Nazi scientist who had made great discoveries while working on his fellow inmates at the camp where she was imprisoned during the war. This past disgusted Ryan but he could not say Rapture does not she advocated a mode without ethics or censorship?

Tenenbaum finally appeared. Thirty years, curly black hair and an accent to cut with a knife. Moderately attractive according to the criteria of Ryan. But maybe he did not like the German end. He motioned to sit.

"Then, doctor tell me, what did you want to talk about."

"I Just made an amazing discovery, Mr. Ryan."

Ryan raised an eyebrow:

"Like then?"

Tenenbaum pulled from his bag a small jar containing a kind of slug. Ryan was a grimace of disgust. He hated slugs.

"Therefore your discovery is this..."

Ryan sought an appropriate answer.

"...Thing."

"This Sea slug But it is not she who is amazing is that it produces.

Ryan stifled a yawn. When is that going to happen in the Tenenbaum goal?

"It happen a few days ago, I went on a walk on the docks of Neptune when came across a man was bitten on the hand by one of these slugs. He had one of his hands paralyzed since the war. And after his bite, he could move his fingers again!

Ryan calmed the ardor of Tenenbaum:

"You're telling me that this man has regained the use of his hands with this slug?"

"Yes. I'm convinced."

Ryan noted the term used

"Convinced? You have not verified?"

"It Have advanced equipment and unfortunately I do not have the means to offer me. Maybe if you ..."

Ryan interrupted him:

"Excuse me, Tenenbaum. I have a lot of work today and I do not have time to take care of a slug healing hand. In addition, it may very well be a coincidence. And you know my personal opinion on the gift, I guess. I give nothing, I invested. And I do not do that if I am sure of winning. However, I do not win over with your pet."

"You are mistaken" replied Tenenbaum. "This slug could be the consecration of Rapture. One way to improve the human being."

Unable to resist, Ryan laughed.

"Doctor, You are in the middle of science fiction. Even if your slug possess these properties, I do not hurl it. Go see the scientific community or find another sponsor. But Ryan Industries will not set foot in this chimera."

He motioned to leave and Tenenbaum win his slug. Waiting for the next appointment, Ryan thought back to their conversation. He had erred in dismissing the scientist and his mad scheme?Himself had done similar projects that had proved successful in the future. But after all, even if this slug gave good results was obliged to benefit? He was not the only fortune Rapture Fontaine was also very richly. Others had the right to succeed also. He pulled another drag on his cigarette, looking at his agenda. The following answered to the name of Piotr Narishkin and he had just arrived. More than a Russian that finally understood that communism was bad. Andrew did introduce.

He expected a young man or at most his age. Narishkin but had largely seventy years. Of a dull white hair and a face covered with wrinkles. Strangely, Ryan seemed to know, or at least to have already seen him before Rapture.

He helped her to sit. Narishkin spoke little English but knew enough to be understood. Ryan invited to speak.

"Tell me,Narishkin sir, what brings you to see me.

"I need you. I flee the USSR quickly without money. I need work."

Ryan slowly folded his hands before his face. 'Again we came to see him.' Did you need money?' 'We went to see Ryan.' 'On a job?' 'We went to see Ryan.' It was becoming tiresome and Ryan employed an understatement.

"But why come work for me? There are many companies and positions available in Rapture. The work is a key driver of our society.

"Yes. But I heard that you be as generous patrons when job is well done."

Ryan allowed himself a small smile. Narishkin was right. Ryan's generosity had no limits when employees put a real passion for the job. It was like that on the surface and it continued under water.

"I am pleased that Rapture brings me such great qualifiers."

Ryan pressed his index on the call button and spoke to his secretary through the communication pipe. A kind of private telephone line, it was not necessary to go through the operators. Time savings is commendable, especially when in the end, the person who received the call was only a few pieces away.

"Molly, can you check in the files if Ryan Companies have a position open at this time? Thank you."

Leaving his secretary to his work, Ryan refocused on Narishkin. His first impression was good, he had already seen. But when he was young. To pass the time, he decided to unravel this mystery.

" , Why did you leave the USSR?"

"Yes. I flee when Stalin died. Not want to be killed by Khrushchev and other leaders."

At these words, Ryan felt a tear of joy running down hid cheek. Stalin was dead. dead. The information was always a delay and was still distorted arriving in Rapture. But the tone of this witness was formal. Stalin, the butcher was dead. The best news that he has been given to hear for ages.

"You crying?" worried Narishkin

"No, No," Ryan said, wiping his face with a linen handkerchief . A medical problem but nothing serious.

By placing the handkerchief on the desktop, Ryan continued to think. Narishkin since left the USSR in the death of its leader, could probably bet that he could have done before. The country was vast and he could well escape. Ryan knew he had. Narishkin was probably remained all his life in the USSR. So why is it that Ryan was sure to know?

Suddenly, a terrible thought arose in him. As a chasm opened in his mind. What if? What if? No, it was too big, it was not possible. The chance to be on the order of one million on...

"Mr Narishkin", Ryan asked in a voice he did not recognize himself. "What did you do for a living in the USSR?"

"A soldier of the Red Army"

Unconsciously, Ryan bit his lip. It was too big.

"You have participated in the civil war?"

"Yes. The repression against whites."

The gulf of open ends. Ryan knew why he seemed so familiar. He was the officer who had killed his family, thirty-four years ago. Ryan saw him again, wearing a fur hat and a coarse uniform pointing a gun to his dying father. He saw his sister die from the bullets of his men. This man was the reason why Andrei Artiomovitch Rydjii no longer existed and why Andrew Ryan struggled every day so firmly against communism and its horrors. That man was his nemesis.

It was the voice of his secretary who spoke through the tube that tore the snow to Russia in 1919 to return to the depths of Rapture, over thirty years later.

"No jobs posted for now."

Narishkin sketched a grimace. Ryan stood marble some time. This murderer of his family presented itself to him and that he would let him go? It was not in question. Andrew jumped.

"Wait. I may have something for you. Follow me."

Ryan walked quickly in the Heart of Hephaestus, Narishkin on his heels. He told his secretary to wait his other appointments. It does not have that for a moment. With each step that Ryan did, he felt the rage grow and breathe it in every pore of his skin. He did one thing: Kill Narishkin and reduce him to lint.

But even in Rapture, there were laws. Laws he himself had enacted. And if he him killed publicly, Ryan infringed the last two rules of the city. On the surface, he opted for a trial in due form. But the past was forgotten when it came to Rapture. In fact, you could see Rapture as a new birth.

Ryan guided Narishkin through a maze of corridors still building in the middle of workers welding and working to improve the industrial heart of the city and its geothermal system.

Geothermal. Rapture could not draw its energy elsewhere. The electricity could be heard as the surface was impossible: where to draw the cables? Rapture dug so the bottom of the Atlantic, closer to the heart of the world and drew the lava as a source of energy and of course heat.

Ryan guided Narishkin to a large deserted platform, overlooking one of the main reservoirs of Hephaestus, just protected by a guardrail. Tons and tons of molten lava hissed and smelled terrible a few meters below them. Work in this area had not yet begun and they were alone. Alone. The Assassin and his victim. As before but changed roles.

Ryan motioned Narishkin to approach. He had to raise his voice to cover hissing lava.

"Did you that lava is about a thousand degrees?"

"It's very impressive."

"Yes it is."

Ryan motioned Narishkin to approach and leaning against the guardrail. This decline began then agreed. It was a cringe seeing the lava bubbling few meters below him. Ryan left mesmerized by the sight and looked around to find a weapon.

"What did you in the civil war", said Ryan while continuing to search. You were tasked with finding and white lead in Moscow, is it not ?

"Yes" said Narishkin in distant voice, always set the washing. "Me and my men were going to white houses and arrested the occupants.

"You did not kill anyone?"

"If Ordered. Or if they've refusal to obey.

Ryan finally found the object of his happiness, a wrench probably forgotten there by a distracted worker. He took it and was amazed at its weight. It was really heavy. He walked with small steps of his victim who asked.

"But why you want to know all this?"

"I am not always named Andrew Ryan."

"Ah Good?" Narishkin said, turning slowly.

"No. Before my name was Rydjii. Andrei Artiomovich Rydjii, brother to Ievguenia Artiomova Rydjii, son of Artiom Alexandrovich Rydjii.

Ryan had hoped that the names say something to Narishkin but it was nothing. He must have been so many deaths on his conscience, he had forgotten the name of his victims. It was this which liberated the rage of Andrew. The murderer does not even remember his victims. It was a new death. It was disgusting. Narishkin's skin bleached when he saw the weapon in the hands of Ryan but he was stuck.

"Wait! What do you do?

'I offer you something that I should have gived to you, thirty-four years ago

Ryan waved the wrench a moment before hitting hard on the face of Narishkin fell over the guardrail. He did not even have time to scream before being engulfed by the lava. He leaned slightly in the hope of seeing him struggle. But he saw only the boiling lava. He dropped the bloody wrench into the lava.

Ryan stayed a little to watch the lava and then returned with a slow step toward his office. He asked to be alone for a while. He sat in his big chair and sighed. He had to kill a man. He had committed a murder. And yet, it felt good. Really good. So he allowed himself one of his beloved Cuban cigars he was perpetually rationing and a glass of vodka. While enjoying the smoke, he said he had quite a few last words to Narishkin. He raised his glass and drank gulp before passing it over his shoulder.

"Тост за вас, товарищ_!_ *

* * *

* Тост за вас, товарищ = "A yours, comrade!" Russian


	13. Chapter 13

_Rapture, five years earlier_

Ryan stubbed a cigar in a small ashtray enamel before turning and facing Sullivan. A smell of wet shells and tobacco invaded the office of the officer. Ryan let out a long, long sigh before looking at the head of the security right in the eyes.

"You are sure of your sources?"

The officer smoothed his short mustache before speaking in a low voice:

"Unfortunately yes, Mr. Ryan. We must recognize that your suspicions were..."

Sullivan threw a file on the table which opened in shock and some photos slipped out of the jacket. Ryan approached them and grabbed one between the thumb and forefinger. Although poor, you could see wooden crates parted, literally spewing bibles and crucifixes.

"The smuggling moved permanently to Rapture, in spite of the Rules."

"This is intolerable" Ryan said dryly, opening the fingers and dropping the photo. "Intolerable."

"You Know", Sullivan said, sitting down "I was a police officer at the surface and the black market has always been..."

"You do not understand. I do not worry about the economic consequences that would smuggling the city, I am concerned because it means that there are parasites among us who refuse to comply with our laws and our world are in danger to satisfy their love of wealth!"

Sullivan poured himself a shot of whiskey and offered the master of the city. He refused, pacing the room. He thundered.

"We must take action against smuggling."

"I agree with you sir, but smuggling is already punishable by life imprisonment. What do you want to do more," he said in the tone of the joke, "the death sentence?"

Ryan stopped abruptly. The death penalty in Rapture? It was obvious that Sullivan was joking. Ryan and his were always against the death penalty. But Ryan was going to obviously the fear of life imprisonment is more frightened. He thought it would be enough to take out Rapture of these principles. It was wrong.

"Course not, officer. You know how much I disapprove of this. But what can we do if these pests do not respect the law?"

Sullivan instinctively lowered his voice, as if afraid of being heard.

"I got together with some of my men and we agreed: if some people openly flout the laws too well ...these people could have an accident."

"You're talking about murder?" Ryan asked in a worried voice.

"For Justice. You know, I have not worked a lot in the 1930's in Chicago. I was one of the few honest cops, refusing money from Capone. And when me and my guy could have to see these rotten sickos out of jail, free as air , well ... we take action. For Justice."

"No, Sullivan. We can not allow such abusers within the City. We'll just install a security system that is more efficient. I had the idea that this project would monitor the cameras in Rapture , we could identify troublemakers. And perhaps link the cameras with robots to protect the most sensitive sites.

"That is good idea," Sullivan admitted. "But it will require the Council's approval."

"Do Not worry, the Council is following me."

Ryan straightened his tie.

"OK. I gotta go, Sullivan. Thank you for your help on this matter."

"From Nothing, replied the officer, shaking his hand. "I am happy to work for Rapture."

After a few courtesies, the two men parted. Outside the police station, Ryan found Bill McDonagh, Assistant Administrator, his closest collaborator. He was a giant native from East End, red, with the mustache as impressive as his size. Former plumber, his work was so pleased that Ryan had picked as his right arm. From scratch and reach the summit by the strength of his work... McDonagh represented the essence of the Rapturian dream.

"Mr Ryan, we have a problem", said Bill of entry. "A number of residents here is protesting against the recent arrival of a black population in Rapture."

"What's their problem?" Ryan said without stopping, so McDonagh had to follow him without stopping to talk

"These people came mainly from the southern United States. And they believe that the " Jim Crow laws" should be applied here."

Ryan grinned. The Jim Crow laws. The laws of apartheid. Separate the whites and blacks, as if they belong to the same human race. How people who had lived in a country that mixed the United States could feel superior for a history of skin color?

"I don't think we should apply the Crow laws. They go against our rules. It is not the color of the skin that makes the difference. I had already done so on the surface and I will continue!

McDonagh did not insist. He knew very fixed ideas of his boss. When Andrew Ryan had an idea in mind, it was impossible to remove. It was probably the best man he had ever met also the greatest philanthropist ... if adhered to the Rapturian dream, of course. Parasites were crushed without remorse. At first, McDonagh had trouble with this philosophy. He understood that good work had to be rewarded, he did not understand the classification of certain points and Ryan especially generous.

Ryan gave himself without stint. This is after entering his service Bill understood the difference was between Ryan and generous men worthy of respect he said. Were satisfied with the generous giving without wanting anything in return. In the end, those who received the living of those who gave brackets. They fattened without working. They took advantage of the system. It was a vicious circle.

While on the contrary, giving expecting a return, clear, make an investment, not only on helping the person but it is bound in the Great Chain that was pushing in the right direction. Benefited the entire society in the end.

Yes, at first he struggled but now MacDonagh was completely in keeping with the philosophy of Ryan.

_Compris, Mr. Ryan said the giant. "I'd be willing to do anything to protect Rapture from the parasites, you know.

_I Know Bill, I know.

The master of the city stopped in one of the many tunnels that connected the buildings between them. He could not hide the frank smile split his face when he saw Rapture before him. That smile was probably the clearest evidence of the pride that Andrew put in his city.

"Tell me, Bill." Ryan said without taking his eyes off his city. "How many people live in Rapture?"

"A little over a 100,000 people, sir," proudly MacDonagh.

"That's roughly the population of Los Angeles in 1900. You realize, Bill?"

"This is impressive,sir. That many people in just ten years."

Ryan did not answer. He tried to feel each hundred thousand lives who trusted him, who had chosen him as a guide. This was always nice to him dizzy, he began to enjoy it. He was the keeper of this city, day and night protecting it against parasites.

Ryan continued his walk without worrying about more than that of smuggling. As he would have , with men like Sullivan or McDonagh, the parasites can not take Rapture. And in case he should consider the impossible, Ryan swore: never, ever, the parasites would seize his city

He would jump forward.

And perhaps even McDonagh would press the button before him.


	14. Chapter 14

_Rapture, two years and eleven months earlier_

Ryan was sitting with his closest collaborators, at the bar of the Marine Hall. The bar was located just below the theater. Decorated in a rather intimate, the bar served as a rallying point to the public after the show. Ryan had to be a permanent table. Like clockwork, it always went there after attending the shows.

Tonight, a singer named Anna Culpepper had made her début by taking the first part of the show for Cohen. Ryan thought she was good. It was not the opinion of Cohen, who had taken a dislike to the singer as soon as she set foot on stage. But Ryan thought why Cohen was so resistant to songs Culpepper: he was afraid. With a good job, Culpepper could reach the talent of Cohen. And both he knew it. Andrew entertained their emerging conflict. In all honesty, though Cohen was a genius, he had a tendency to rest on his laurels. A little competition would serve to improve the overall level of artists in Fort Frolic.

The rosewood table was pentagonal shape. Ryan held the place of honor at the other end of the edge of the table. Beside him, from right to left stood Sullivan, who was there to be much in the company of the master of the city to make sure its safety, Cohen regularly left the table as in time to go to show off in front fans in the room, with whom Ryan could McDonagh discuss minor problems of the city and finally, the last place to the left end of Ryan was left free. Ryan and allowed anyone to come and dine with them. This evening, the place was occupied by a plastic surgeon from Germany, who had recently arrived in the city. Ryan lifted his coffee cup to his lips.

"Do you remember your name?

"Steinman. Dr. Joseph Steinman."

Ryan & Sullivan leaned over and whispered a few words whispered. Ryan nodded and continued its discussion.

"Sullivan tells me that you are a medical professional respected by Benjamin Church Medical College. And Dr. Richard Clerkwell held you in high esteem."

Surprised by the accuracy of the information, Steinman could not head.

"Yes,it is true.

Ryan hid his smile by absorbing some coffee. He had to wonder if Sullivan could ever go wrong. He did not know how the Irish was to have as much information as they all hid in the depths of the ocean. Ryan finished his coffee and played mechanically by rotating the cup between her fingers.

"Then Tell me, why did you choose to leave your life in New York to join us?"

"The weariness," Steinman replied honestly. "I could not stand still and always having a nose rectify or cut an unsightly mole... I was going crazy. People were obsessed with symmetry, dreaming to have both parts of the face exactly the same. I finally cracked and when I learned of the existence of this city, I went there."

Andrew nodded. Indeed, an endless repetition must be terrible to live.

"And Though Dr. Steinman" said Ryan continuing to play with his cup, "I'm sure that here at least you..."

But Ryan did not get to finish his sentence. Sander Cohen came to join the diners, cutting Andrew in his tracks.

"Gentlemen", He said bluntly, "I'm sure you will forgive my interruption, but I would like to introduce you to someone."

"Exactly Not", Ryan launched shortly."Sander, I was talking and..."

For the second time in less than a minute, Ryan could not finish his sentence. But the second was entirely his own doing.

He had set eyes on a young woman who stood next to Cohen. Or rather, she had to looked liked a goddess: a beautiful blonde barely in her thirty's with eyes as blue as emeralds two. She wore a blood-red dress, simple but it was heavenly.

He could not look away. It was stronger than him. However, he used to attend the beautiful women-not happening not the greatest seducer of Rapture? -. But there he simply could not. It was like a bubble out of time. He seemed to feel his heart torn between stop and explode if it was the slightest movement.

It was Cohen who finally pulled out of this situation spoke again as if nothing had happened.

"I want to present you miss Jolene says the singer inviting the young woman approaching. Mary-Catherine, is it?

"My friends call me Jasmine, she said smiling.

She had a beautiful voice. As if an angel had just opened her mouth to sing.

"Jasmine..." Ryan repeated in a voice he did not recognize himself.

He wanted to invite her to sit down but realized that all the seats are taken.

"Is not serious,Mr. Ryan, I can stand."

Andrew shook his head. He refused the idea that a woman should stand as Jasmine. He turned to Steinman.

"Doctor, Do you mind leaving your place for Jolene miss?" asked the master of the city on a friendly tone.

"Well course not. I intended to go to sleep anyway," the artist replied, rising and giving way to the young woman.

"Thank you, Jasmine whispered taking place at the pentagonal table .

Ryan saw clearly Sullivan see the young woman carefully. It was logical, since after all, the head of security is paid-for-and paranoia. He would not let anyone near generally Ryan without a full review. No doubt this night, the Irish would delve into the past of Jolene.

"Then Tell me miss Jolene, Ryan began trying to hide the disorder in his voice. "What has brought a beautiful woman here?

"The Work," she replied simply. "I had too many problems to the surface with my job. When I heard of this Eden, I did not hesitate for a moment."

"Your Job?

"I am a dancer."

Ryan frowned. He did not see how the fact that dancing could pose any problem to anyone. It was Cohen who lit his lantern

"Miss Jolene just is engaged in the Garden of Eve."

Ryan knew instantly: the Garden of Eve was as we said modestly was a gentleman's club. The kind of clubs that paid little puritanical morality with strangling the United States. For his part, Ryan had never been really shocked. After all, everyone had her body as he wanted. It was not policy to regulate it.

Cohen went on to Jolene on his last delivery and the cleavage that existed between him and Culpepper. Ryan was politely pretend to listen. The ego of the artist was sometimes boring. He could talk for hours without stopping on his talent. Ryan could almost predict in advance the words that come out of his mouth ...

Knowing that Cohen does not formalize in Andrew traveled the room look. He would have liked to talk to her alone Jolene but he could not eject even when his friend and the eyes of the master of the city crystallized on entering the room. He had seen Fontaine arrive, accompanied by Tenenbaum. It was amusing to see how the two men were antagonistic to the way they dressed: Ryan made it a point of honor to still be stylish but without overdoing it though. He preferred cuts discrete and dull colors like brown. Fountain instead worn in costume, jewelery, everything was good for attracting attention. He claimed its position as the second capital of the city, just behind Ryan.

Sent a fountain of salvation out to Ryan who returned. Fontaine's fortune was made really fast. His trade on the docks had exploded. Sullivan also suspected that the position of Fontaine allows him to indulge in smuggling, which poisoned the city. But Ryan was no evidence prohibits any intervention, official or not.

Tenenbaum was held in the wake of Fontaine. The scientist had approached Fontaine, as Ryan had advised her. And he took very seriously her project with this slug. Rumors say that the substance derived from slugs gave amazing results that everything was still in an experimental project.

Fontaine went to a table at the other end of the room where a small man with thick glasses and waiting. It was Dr. Yi Suchong expert in genetics. Sullivan had discovered little about him except that he was born in China and had escaped the massacre of Nanking in collaboration with Japanese troops. At the end of the war, he had taken refuge here to escape the justice of his country. Ryan did not like it much. Suchong was hired by Fontaine very quickly. Ryan did not see spirits as bright as Tenenbaum ,Fontaine and Suchong serving. He could not say why, but he felt that Fontaine was preparing something.

" ?"

Jolene's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"I'm Sorry", replied Andrew. "I was elsewhere".

Ryan smiled, pleased to occupy his mind with a much nicer person than Fontaine.

" , I wanted to ask you... there's something I do not understand. You built Rapture on liberalism. So if I understand, you are taking a stand against the Soviet Union, I do not understand why you do the same against the United States."

Ryan thinks. In normal times, it would have been incisive, even when the injured bored with questions as hollow. But he did not hurt absolutely Jolene.

"Well. I'll try to be more clear: liberalism is an ideal which places freedom above all else. We believe that to be happy, he must be able to think, speak and engage freely, without coercion by the state."

Ryan pointed his forefinger at the ceiling.

"The surface is where two styles clash. Communism where the state is all-powerful and liberalism. It is true that for a time I thought the USA. But I have come to understand that the United States gradually let loose the essence of liberalism to focus only on its economic aspect. In doing so, the United States will slip into a plutocracy. Where the rich have the power. This is not liberalism. It's capitalism."

Jolene blinked, a little surprised at the amount of information that had just bludgeon Ryan. McDonagh laughed.

"You have made a mistake resulting Andrew on this ground there, girl!"

The hilarity of Bill was communicative and soon it was Ryan himself could not refrain from giggling.

"You're Right, Bill. Excuse me."

"Don't apologize, Mr. Ryan. It was very interesting."

To his surprise, Ryan saw in her eyes that she was sincere. It was rare to see a woman who is really interested in his ideas and not only his immense fortune.

Jolene looked at his watch and exclaimed that it was time for her to return. Ryan offered to take her home. He asked her to wait outside the bar, yet to discuss one last thing with his colleagues in private. Jasmine nodded and left. Ryan stood up and pulled his coat while giving instructions.

"Bill, I count on you to discuss this concern in the water leakage. If water enters the machinery of Rapture, we're going to face serious problems.

"But Mr. Ryan, can not only solve the problems of leakage from the inside, you know.

"Then Manufacture these suits so they be reinforced that you spoke to me. Those with this project rivet gun and drill."

Bill nodded. Ryan straightened his tie and continued his instructions by lighting a cigarette.

"Sander... Good performance tonight. But I assure you that Culpepper is not that bad. Try to work with it, you never know."

Finally his eyes rested on Sullivan.

"Sullivan, I want you to focus on activities with Fontaine ,Tenenbaum and Suchong. I am wary of what might come out of their slug."

_A Your orders sir ...

Sullivan stared toward the door.

"And her?"

"No Research."

The tone was dry and without appeal.

"What? But Mr. Ryan, I'm in charge of security, and I...

"No Investigation on miss Jolene. I hope to be clear enough my friend."

Sullivan sighed.

"OK,Boss. But do still careful not to lose your head with this girl."

Ryan shook his head and walked at a brisk pace. Jolene he found out. As promised, he accompanied her to her home in perfect gentlemen. Under normal circumstances, he would not hesitate for a moment and would have kissed Jasmine on the doorstep. It was what he always did, he the greatest seducer of Rapture. He leaned toward her... and merely a kiss on her hand.

"Goodnight."

she then disappeared before he was able to make a gesture.

As he walked through the streets of the city, this ball is always present in the stomach, Ryan could not understand. What had happened? What had retained?

However, with the women, it was really easy... no?

* * *

AN:I Noticed there's little me what I did wrong or did right. I will go unless i get some reviews.


	15. Chapter 15

_One year and seven months earlier_

Ryan was sitting on the examination bed from her doctor, feet flying in the air. Gave the room in shades of white, which contrasted sharply with the dark water you could see the other side of the glass. Ryan had taken off his jacket, waistcoat, tie and shirt, so being topless. The doctor, a man of a certain age in a white coat, examining him with a stethoscope.

"Tell Me Mr. Ryan" asked the doctor. "Since when do you smoke?"

"Since My sixteen" Andrew replied without thinking.

"I Know" murmured the doctor. You can get dressed.

Ryan literally threw on the ground, retrieved his clothes and shoes. He did not have time to renew his tie as a terrible coughing took. His chest ached and he was , the crisis lasted only a few seconds.

Ryan brought his hand to his mouth and was not surprised to find small traces of blood. These crises were more frequent in recent times. It was also why he went to the doctor.

" " said the doctor in a strange voice, as if searching for words. "I fear that this is more serious than we thought. It could be lung cancer due to your smoking."

"A Cancer?" Ryan repeated. "This is impossible seen. I am almost sixty years. Why the disease declare it so long after?"

"You More smoke pipes and cigars as to cigarettes, is not it?"

Ryan nodded.

"Well", continued the doctor, "People who smoke cigars and pipe smokers usually a little less than those who smoke cigarettes. The disease takes more time to develop."

"I See" Ryan said.

It was a strange sensation. He had always loved smoking. Even before being rich. It became a habit for him. And now one of his greatest pleasures threw him in a serious illness?

"Will I heal?"

"It's difficult to say. This disease is one of the deadliest cancers. Maybe you heal with sulfonamides. But medical research on this point is not yet very advanced."

"You Mean I'm going to die because there is no treatment for it?" Ryan then asked in a loud voice. "But damn, there has to something! I brought the best doctors in the world to Rapture, right?" he cried with a loud voice.

"Otherwise, the doctor said, "there is ADAM."

Ryan grinned. ADAM. The famous substance discovered by Tenenbaum. Who against all odds had walked thunder. Suchong's work was remarkable to all points of view. Simply put, ADAM in the human body allowed it to change. A small drop could in a weak body could become strong. Incurable diseases could be overcome and it's even whispered that some plasmids, ,serum of ADAM-enabled, can accomplish extraordinary things like throwing fire or freeze water.

It was Fontaine who was behind it all and he was growing rich every time. Ryan had always seen the fortunes of Fontaine had a bad eye panicked seeing the wealth of Fontaine kept climbing. Ryan had always relied on his immense fortune had to redouble their efforts to not be overtaken. He refused to leave the number one place to Fontaine. Not an upstart, a shabby, a parasite!

And this idea of ADAM... Ryan shivered hearing his name alone. If a scientific point of view, he could not help but be impressed by the effects of the substance, he is worried about his philosophy. Improve human by products, it was into drugs. Man must evolve with himself and nobody else.

Now, almost everyone used the ADAM without worrying about the consequences. Ryan hoped that there would be no side effects.

In a husky voice, Ryan articulation difficult:

"No ADAM" said the master of the city. Sulfa drugs.

_This You choose, replied the practitioner signing the ordinance.

Ryan recovered paper and handed a leash greenbacks and the doctor left the room. He had paid in dollars rapturian with him over his head.

Ryan had disapproved of this idea but again, he had to yield to his incredible popularity. Finally, "popularity" ...

You could not really say that these days, she was in good shape. Critics multiplied. The a wanting reconnect with the outside world were more numerous. Ryan was nice to explain that opening Rapture would deliver the parasites, they would not listen.

Ryan could face criticism. He had always done. But then it started to do a lot: he criticized that although against a State, he centralized the power in his hands and in those of his men.

Is it that they could not understand the need still a power head to avoid overflow? Ryan believed in the man, but it was precisely because he believed that he had to put his rein. Criticisms were unfair: Ryan was not a Hitler or a Stalin.

And to make matters worse, the contraband was stronger than ever. Sullivan lacked evidence to catch Fontaine and his men out of desperation, Ryan gave him carte blanche. The security chief had the authority to stop the actions of the French.

Leaving the Medical Pavilion and enclosing the batysphère, he pulled the lever that was to lead him to his office. The sphere slowly crossed Rapture.

Admiring his city, Ryan felt that something was wrong. Something was changing Rapture, to make pourir slowly. Andrew knew a few notions of medicine, by his father. And one of the most obvious was the following: if the hand put the arm in danger, he had to be cut. You could easily spend this idea more symbolic. It was necessary to eliminate the harmful elements before they attack the rest of society.

And Fontaine was this hand.

Ryan did not care of the legality of the act. Law, it was he who forged. It was his city, his ideal, his utopia!

Parasites such as the French had no right to come to defile it.

Leaving the batysphère the Heart of Hephaestus, the eyes of the master of the city brought on a series of posters, pasted on the wall. They were white and yellow. They represented a man to the waist, in work shirt and suspenders. He crossed fists on her hips and looked up at the sky with an air of defiance. A red inscription written just below the drawing was finalizing everything.

_who Is Atlas? Ryan repeated reading registration.

Atlas ... a name that came up in reports Sullivan. An opponent of the Great Chain, very popular among the poor of Rapture.

It seems that things were growing in: Culpepper-rival Cohen-sang more against Ryan and his policies. Atlas, bénéficait strong support-they said-in the poor population of Rapture. Fontaine, who innondait market this new drug and enriched with more smuggling.

And to make matters worse, from a strictly personal point of view, things went wrong with Jasmine.

He pressed but she refused to appear in public with him. She was afraid of gossip that would flower into their account. Ryan then told him a story: in the early 30s, on the surface, he was invited to a high society party in Texas. Despite his liberal positions displayed on the company tore billionaire. Ryan was reluctant to attend conservative circles and in particular supporters of Crow laws. He did not understand a liberal country could hamper so his own people for a history of skin. It was not normal to get to his level, black should provide more effort. It was unfair.

He decided to play a trick on his guests he had actually made the evening on the arm of one of his conquests. But the reception was expected to Andrew Ryan comes along with Dorothy Van Engle.

The information had toured the Southern high society and shocked good thinking: think so: a millionaire, of Russian origin, appearing at a reception at the Texas arm of a black actress!

Ryan laughed again. He did not care what people say of you does. He openly showed his opinions, choices and preferences. And if he wanted to be with a person he loved, he would.

But it was beautiful prayer, stress and drag its feet, Jasmine answered in the negative. Ryan put it out of him: he loved her and did not care for the opinion of the world! Mattered little to him that way the master of the city couple with luxury prostitute twice younger than himself!

This was another that he would have preferred to break that comply with what he considered a fear futile. But he bowed to the woman he loved. It was even more than love, he was in love.

It was almost sixty years old and in love for the first time in his life.

Because of the refusal of Jasmine formalize their relationship, only a few people knew: that both interested and Bill McDonagh who confided Andrew regularly. It was his right arm after all.

Ryan suspected that Sullivan should be aware of too: the ears of the Irish were all over Rapture. Impossible that know.

Andrew had preferred to remain silent with the rest of rapturiens to respect the wishes of the woman he loved, even his closest collaborators and friends as Cohen or Steinman.

Even worse, he had to give the change to his request! - Continue to behave as before, ie in perfect seducer. He had to show the four corners of Rapture, each time with a different woman, as he did before. But he did not like. Not really.

Rather comical if you thought his career as a womanizer but Ryan had never really liked its partners. He had an affection for some yes, but none had thrilled his heart as Jasmine knew how. It was for her and anyone else he was doing.

Ryan sighed. He would have loved a little cigarette but could not afford it, not with his illness. He decided to evacuate its stress by a brisk walk to his office. He bowed his secretary gale, and asked not to be disturbed.

The office was plunged into darkness. Sullivan was waiting for his boss, admiring the collection of expensive golf clubs that sat on a wall. Ryan signaled his presence by a clearing of the throat. Sullivan left his work and then turned on his heel.

_Monsieur Ryan began Irish. I ...

_This Good, said Andrew by a circular motion of the hand. No problem.

The master of the city sat in his favorite chair and stretched its members. Sometimes it seemed to feel the weight of each of its fifty-eight years and despaired of not having an heir.

Of course, he Rapture, the Great Chain and everything else. The rapturiens were his family. But still, he would have liked to have a child would his blood and ideas. Who could continue the line of Ryan after him.

Andrew looked at the security chief who was sweating profusely. Ryan also made it nervous Sullivan was not the kind of man to worry about nothing.

_Vos Conclusions, Ryan asked dryly.

_Terribles, Simply replied the officer. Fontaine is far more dangerous than we thought.

_Expliquez You.

_The Smuggling and ADAM have provided Fontaine incredible power of the slums of the city. Whole underworld of Rapture is at his feet and feared much more than we Fontaine.

_You Are sure?

Sullivan nodded

_Moi And my men have "interviewed" a smugglers Fontaine. He did not want to say, even after we have broken it ...

Ryan stopped him in his tracks:

_stop! Grace ... spare me the rest. Go to the goal.

Sullivan looked grave:

_J'ai Finally got information from one of the men Fontaine. It is trying to build an army. It has weapons, ammunition and some of his supporters have received injections of plasmids combat.

_From Fight? Ryan repeated

_This Simple: imagine that instead of using a plasmid of fire to light his cigar, they're used to burn a man.

Ryan felt a terrible chill through his body. Such a weapon in the hands of men Fontaine? It was like putting the atomic bomb a madman. A sad smile stretched lips of the master of the town:

_Alors We have no choice my friend ... we must take action. Hand cut off.

_I Beg your pardon? Sullivan questioned.

_No, No, I thought aloud. You're going to be Frank Fontaine arestation tonight. You will lead your men in the neighborhoods of smugglers and Fontaine Futuristics. Do you accompany MacDonagh. It will look to nationalize the company.

_Monsieur ... Ryan Sullivan hesitated. Fontaine nationalize the company, it may be a little ...

Andrew interrupted him.

_This Indispensable. This is the company that controls the plasmids. I do not want another parasite becomes master.

_And How are you "nationalize"? There is no state in Rapture.

_Fontaine Futuristics become possession of Ryan Industries. If my company control plasmids, this will prevent any overflow.

_I Am afraid that people do not appreciate.

_In The hell people! Ryan spat. What he wants is plasmids, right? So no it important that it be me or fountain which tends Cup when he can drink!

Sullivan bowed.

_A Your orders Mr. Ryan. I would still enhance the security around your office. You never know.

Ryan thanked him with a nod and led him. Alone in his office, he went to kiss Rapture eyes.

_Do Not worry. I'll take care of this parasite before it attacks you.

He reached out and stroked the glass fingertips.

_Ma Girl ... he whispered.


	16. Chapter 16

_Rapture, nine months earlier_

Ryan watched his own reflection in the metal helmet diver who was placed before him. A conventional helmet with several windows protected by a grille. Nothing to see, the headset seemed awfully heavy. It was probably a draconian training to support its weight.

Ryan was in the laboratory of Dr. Suchong. The latter had to submit the weapon, he said, would reverse the course of the war. He had to turn old spacesuits Rapture combinations combat be grafted to the skin. The person who would be the combination would be eternally trapped in this pile of metal and could never get out. But it was not as if the future protectors-the name was chosen by Suchong himself-had the choice.

_Click, clack, click, clack._

Ryan took a few steps. At each step, the rod of his cane collided with the ground force, the clinking whole. It was a metal rod made mostly of brass, he was adopted shortly after his assassination attempt.

As he had promised Steinmann, he refused to use ADAM to his leg and went to reject all the rest. As a result, the wound had healed badly, condemning the master of the city to eternal limp.

But Ryan did not care the condition of his calf. Mattered little to him having to move with some support. He was even willing to give his other leg and all its members if it could save Rapture.

_Click, clack, click, clack._

Ryan turned on itself. He stroked a fingertip conical knob of his cane, engraved with a stylized R, Ryan Industries logo.

Sullivan insisted that munisse a cane sword, but Ryan refused flatly. It was already almost permanent custody of his men, he was not more, to carry a weapon!

Ryan turned his gaze across the room. A laboratory with white walls, without decoration. A group of scientists working hard on the elements of the Protector armor under the leadership of Dr. Yi Suchong.

Chinese stood just to the right of his master and Ryan could not help but think that this happens quite often these days.

Sullivan had both right and wrong. Atlas of the militia was well crushed in a few hours, at the cost of significant human and material damage. And the least was not, according to Ryan, defacing Diane.

But Atlas was able to disperse his army in the population of Rapture, where he slowly corrupted the people by serving his ideological brew. Power to the people, equality for all, more poverty, ... that kind of nonsense.

This system was tried to the surface. Its balance sheet? Millions of deaths in the name of sacrosanct communist ideal.

If it was only words and ideas, Ryan could live with it. After all, many rapturiens did not hide their sympathies for leftist ideals. But what Ryan could not stand was that the lies of Atlas gained ground.

Day after day, like a tumor grew, the number of supporters of Atlas was growing. Bolder and did not hesitate to terrorize Rapture by attacks or violent actions. Each week, residents of affluent neighborhoods of Rapture would die horribly. And accordingly, each week, retaliation Sullivan fell on the poor of the city.

And between the two, remained essentially Rapture, the median population. Nor rich enough to embrace the upscale neighborhoods of the city, nor poor enough to find themselves relegated to the slums, was the backbone of the population, that both camps trying to rally to his cause.

Ryan as Atlas knew that the war would be won by the side that has the population with him.

_The Project please? Suchong asked, voice feverish excitement.

Ryan fingertips touched the thick armor protector. It was freezing cold. Andrew wondered for a moment if the equipment people that would feel for the rest of their lives this cold bite.

_This Interesting confessed Ryan.

He could honestly not hide his admiration for the potential destruction and power represented by the Protector. Doped with appropriate plasmids, it would be as fast as a cheetah, as strong as a bull and as strong as an elephant.

_And You intend to link these ...

_Protecteurs Said Suchong finishing the sentence instead of his master.

_ ... _things_ , 'said Ryan, the Little Sisters?

The "protected" Tenenbaum had quickly become the main target of the fans of Atlas. The ADAM they had in the body was a strategic issue. Now, plasmids and weapons became the Little Sisters were the armory. And accounted Protective gunsmith.

_Absolument, Said the doctor, smiling more than ever. They will be companions of small and spend every second of their lives to protect them. I can assure you that no man would dare Atlas rub them.

_Mais They are not invincible, right?

Suchong conceded the point:

_Certes. But unless their opponents attack them with rockets or I do not know what war material, the guards will be able to fight with anyone.

_And For what people in the armor? There he no other way than to be grafted?

Suchong shook his head:

_No, Mr. Ryan, this is impossible. They must become the armor. This is the condition _sine qua non_ of our success. But luckily, we can persuade them.

Ryan sighed deeply. Under normal circumstances, he would have refused such a project. But since January 1, they were no longer in a situation _normal_ . It was war after all.

There was and there would be excess course. But would return to normal once the wave passed. Yes, everything.

Rapture could start on the right foot, trampling parasites and going even further in his doctrine, that of man.

_And How ...

Ryan hesitated to use the terms:

_ ... _persuade_ you guinea pigs?

Suchong did not answer and motioned for Andrew to follow him.

_Click, clack, click, clack._

Suchong guided the small group itself is Ryan, some scientists and members of the honor guard, in the maze of its laboratories. Andrew seemed to see for the hundredth time that white corridor and sterile, the same color as those of hospitals.

Finally, the Chinese stopped before a small door, a little behind. He composed a complex code to unlock it, then opened the door.

When he entered, Ryan was at first surprised by the dark places. It was unusual in local Suchong where everything was lit the same immaculate white light.

The smell of blood, body fluids and fat made his way to the nostrils of the master of the city. Instinctively, he clapped a handkerchief against his nose and mouth.

Scientists and bodyguards were also the expression of disgust on his face. Suchong instead wore a serene face.

The doctor lowered a lever and a dim light illuminated the center of the room. An operating table and sat there on it, a man firmly bound by leather straps.

Ryan took a few steps forward, at the invitation of Suchong.

By looking more closely, it was not a man. Or rather, it does no longer one: his skin was stretched over bones, like wax stretched. She was as gray as stone and his eyes seemed to shine like wisps. He no longer had the skull few wispy tufts, tawny. His chest heaved gently to the rhythm of his inspirations irregular.

His mouth was open, revealing rotten teeth, stained red.

Saliva black, viscous and sticky dripped down her lips, smelling of decay.

But that was not the strange man seemed to have strange bumps on the face and body, as giant cysts.

Andrew had never seen anything like it. From a mechanical reflex, due to his religious upbringing, Ryan signed the orthodox way: first the right shoulder and joining the thumb, index and middle finger.

He regretted this gesture he regretted the very moment he was doing.

_Qu'est-What is that? he asked after rejecting a moment the handkerchief from his mouth.

_A Splicer.

_A What?

Suchong repeated the term that Ryan still could not grasp.

_This You see there, explained Suchong a didactic tone, this is what the result of overconsumption ADAM. This man stepped injections until his body can not take it. He eventually evolve completely chaotic, without any control. A bit like a tree without guardian suddenly grew and grew crooked.

Ryan put his hand Splicer Suchong but grabbed her wrist forcefully:

_Do Not touch sir! He is sedated but remains extremely dangerous. His brain literally melted. All he wants is a next injection ADAM. And believe me when I tell you he would be willing to do anything to find the smallest drop.

_This Horrible, Ryan whispered in bringing the handkerchief against her mouth.

_This Especially convenient for us, said Suchong, pragmatic. We capture them, and the lobotomisons we enclose in the armor of the Protector. They are no longer human beings, sir. There is no qualms about having. And he chose to be, right?

Yes ... probably, the doctor was right. This was going to suffer this man was monstrous course, but he had made his choice. He chose to increase the dose of ADAM without even had injected the substance miracle of strength in the veins.

Ryan was glad to have never yielded to the temptation of Adam.

_And How do you make the connection?

_I Still looking for a suitable plasmid, confessed Suchong gently guiding his master to the output. Research is time consuming and expensive but we should soon have our first functional protectors.

Suchong lowered the handle and plunged the room into darkness. Only the horrible smell still reported the presence of the poor devil attached to the operating table.

The group left the room as the Chinese closed carefully. He then explained to Ryan that there was now a small number of splicers in Rapture, under strong surveillance and they represented no danger to the city.

But Ryan listened to half. He could not take his mind the vision of Splicer, imprisoned in the abyss Suchong laboratories.

He signed all the papers that aids Suchong handed him the reading only. He had only one desire, to leave the building.

When the doors closed behind him, Ryan fell to his knees and sucked in great gulps, as if he had forgotten to breathe since he had discovered the Splicer. Two members of his guard rushed to support him and help him recover.

Fortunately, the crisis was short. He stood up and wiped his face dripping with sweat with his handkerchief.

Ryan had originally planned to go to Hephaestus to work but it would be impossible to undertake anything before this vision of horror leaves his head. And he knew only one person who can cure him.

The Garden of Eve was the club's most exclusive gentlemen all Rapture. Few men were never to have set foot. It was the most beautiful rapturiennes. Albeit at a high price but then no one had the best without having to pay the price.

At this hour, the locals were still closed. It was too early, the Garden of Eve did not open to customers until eight or nine o'clock. But Andrew Ryan was not like any other customer.

Beyond being the most powerful man in the city, Ryan had a reputation unusual in the brothel. He might get there fairly regularly, he had always despised girls that he had were folded in four, however, sometimes offering real goddesses. But there was only one who found grace in the heart of Andrew.

Jasmine was waiting in her room, the most luxurious building. She sat on her bed and wearing a crimson robe with ruby brooch, a gift he had given her. In fact, upon reflection, that he had rarely seen wearing a color other than red.

No sooner had he reached the door a frank smile lit up the face of the young woman and she threw herself into his arms and kissed passionately.

Ryan hugged him with delight. She wore a new perfume. A smell probably a little too heady, but still very enjoyable.

This was when he was with her he knew why he loved her. With her, nothing mattered neither his age nor his injuries or his doubts, nothing existed. He loved her and that was all that mattered.

He felt himself slipping with her on the bed and feel from far, far away, the memory of Splicer and dirt from the world ...

_Qu'est Do you think of the children? he asked, turning to her.

Jasmine was still curled up in the sheets while Andrew was dressed and finished to put her shoes. Sitting at the foot of the bed, he looked lovingly. He had spent some very pleasant hours with her but it was time to return to work.

_From What? she asked, voice heavy with the fatigue.

_The Children, he repeated with a playful tone. You know, like adults, but smaller.

She sat up on the pillow and stared. He seemed to see it fade without really understanding why.

_Andrew, She hesitated ... I ...

He kindly cut of hands:

_Ça Goes. No problem. You do not have to answer me right away.

_This Not that I do not want Andrew. It's just that ...

He cut once again approaching her and kissing:

_Encore Once, okay. I know this is a big decision. I just wanted you to think about it, okay?

_D'accord She said without ceasing to fade.

He reluctantly gave in, promising he would soon see. He had no sooner reached the door of her room she was already missing him.

He may have made a mistake in speaking children. They never really addressed the problem, diverting the conversation from Jasmine its commitment in this area. Still, it was a concern increasingly haunting Ryan. He needed a child.

He had already Rapture itself, of course. But would still prefer a heir _human_ . He wanted to pass on his name and legacy. And he would like to ensure the continuity of his lineage before his death.

It was not yet in his grave but came closer every day. He lived with a cancer that he cured with great difficulty and a bullet in the leg. To complete it all, he still had almost sixty years. More than half a century.

Ryan beat the pavement for a moment before the Garden of Eve. Since he was in Fort Frolic as well enjoy to see Cohen.

He found the artist in the Hall of the Navy, doing auditions. His friend was down in a chair with red velvet and seemed to judge a young man standing on the stage. A small orchestra, placed in the pit, accompanying benefits.

Three men were sitting alongside the master artist. Ryan thought it would be those that Cohen was an acceptable level to act as stooges. Cohen was drastic in its choice of partners. None other than himself was through his eyes. Sander but could not provide all the shows Rapture alone. To his chagrin, however.

Ryan advanced to Cohen who rose to greet him. The two men gave a free hug.

_Andrew! exclaimed the virtuoso. How are you?

_I Am well my friend, Ryan replied, smiling. Have you had the time to take care of the work that I asked you?

_Absolument, Cohen replied, snapping his fingers.

Immediately, one of three men sitting alongside Sander literally threw a bunch of sheets and pulled out a copy which appeared repeatedly erased.

_Merci Hector says Cohen seizing the front sheet of the tender to Ryan. As you can see, the title is simple and evocative _Rapture Stand up, raise you_ !

Ryan himself with a nod. He had ordered a hymn to Cohen. An anthem for Rapture. He saw no one other than the master artist to create this work. It had to be perfect. And Sander was perfection.

It might seem strange that Rapture needs a hymn. After all, Ryan had repeatedly said that it was not a flag that was the greatness of the man, but the wearer.

But a hymn was essential in troubled times like now. They needed one more symbol to rally people to their cause.

Ryan began to read silently the first lines of the song:

_Oh Rapture stands up, raises you!_

_We turn our hopes to the heavens._

_Oh Rapture stands up, raises you!_

_On your wings, fly our dreams. *_

The first lines he liked well. He was about to continue when Cohen seemed to shake abruptly

_No, It is nothing without music see! We need the music ... and a singer ..

. Sander looked around him and cried with a loud voice:

_Musique!

Immediately, the orchestra began to play. Cohen closed his eyes and made a sudden movement of hand for the man on stage started singing.

Ryan had to admit that it was much better music.

But while he was addressing the chorus, Sander suddenly opened his eyes and commanded sternly to stop the orchestra. Ryan did not understand what was happening. Everything was is he suddenly annoyed?

_You SING YOU WRONG! Cohen roared the poor young man.

Ryan had noticed nothing. But it was true that he was not nearly as picky as Cohen a musical point of view.

The young singer mumbled a poor defense that Cohen was not long to waltz in every sense of the word. The artist rushed the stage and grabbed her by the collar towards:

_Êtes You telling me that I'm wrong? I, Sander Cohen make a mistake? We see that you do not know me, young man! I was already cheered when you were a baby! Do you realize that you have a perfect work ransack your mediocrity?

Ryan tried to calm his friend

_Sander, Please. It was not so bad.

_No So serious? repeated Cohen. Not so serious? Coming from a mistake on this ode, it stains my name and yours! It defiles whole Rapture! It is a filthy parasite! He is no better than Culpepper and his band of brawlers!

A short smile split his face Ryan. So that's the problem. Cohen was still obsessed with her rival. The two artists were engaged in fierce game. It was nothing more than the same civil war that tore Rapture but a purely musical point of view.

One of the men stood sat and tried to calm Cohen putting her hand on his shoulder

_Maître, Please. Give you a show.

Cohen pulled away with a jerk:

_Mais When I an entertainer, Silas, is infinitely superior to what this pathetic who stands before you!

The so-called Silas made a nod to the man who had brought the song to Cohen, Hector and his companion to come and lend a hand. These are executed and, by dint of flattery, managed to convince Cohen to calm down. They persuaded him to go for a few minutes in her box. The three men sighed with relief of the same movement when the master artist said they took a break and walked away.

They surrounded the victim of Cohen and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder

_Tu Really have a knack for putting the master pissed you! said Hector, laughing uproariously.

The young man did not dare look up. Ryan looked at him carefully. He was young: a little over twenty years, at most. His hair was light brown and face riddled with freckles. He seemed very affected by what had happened.

Ryan walked up to him and told him he had found his performance very good.

_Sauf Your respect Mr. Ryan replied Silas who stood a little behind, a benefit "very good" does not our master. It requires perfect.

Ryan winced when Silas uttered the word "master".

Cohen _Why you qualify for this title?

_Parce That's what it is Mr. Ryan. We are his disciples. Or at least try to become.

Silas himself pointed the finger:

_I Am called Silas Cobb. Whoever brought the master sheet is Hector Rodriguez. Whoever said nothing since earlier, Martin Finnegan and the little that comes to be crucified by Master Cohen is Kyle Fitzpatrick.

Fitzpatrick shyly shook his head. Ryan discussed a few minutes with the disciples of Cohen. It was nice to have another point of view on his master artist.

Their discussion lasted until Cohen redo its appearance. he seemed calmer and calmer. He invited Ryan to stay to hear the end of the song, but Andrew chose to decline.

_I Think it's best that you give me the final version in a few days. I was delighted to meet you gentlemen, he said to the disciples Cohen greeting them.

These mingled with thanks to Ryan. Especially the young Fitzpatrick.

Ryan whistled away from the Hall of the Navy. Life should not be easy for the disciples of Cohen. Their master was also steeped in ego than talent. But as Ryan had said he was confident they would one day be as great artists.

Andrew sighed with regret leaving Fort Frolic. Those few hours had plunged into the carefree pre-war when all was well in Rapture.

But there was nothing to worry about. Atlas of movement was well eventually stop one way or another. Ryan and his clan triumph. The master of the city give a grand celebration to celebrate the end of the war. And Andrew would be ringside seat to see Cohen and artists of Fort Frolic shine in all their glory.

* Author's note: there is no French translation of official anthem of the city _Rise, Rapture, Rise._ translation that is in this chapter is entirely my own and do not correspond with Another translation that you might find on the Internet, for example.


	17. Chapter 17

_Rapture, nine months earlier_

Ryan watched his own reflection in the metal helmet diver who was placed before him. A conventional helmet with several windows protected by a grille. Nothing to see, the headset seemed awfully heavy. It was probably a draconian training to support its weight.

Ryan was in the laboratory of Dr. Suchong. The latter had to submit the weapon, he said, would reverse the course of the war. He had to turn old spacesuits Rapture combinations combat be grafted to the skin. The person who would be the combination would be eternally trapped in this pile of metal and could never get out. But it was not as if the future protectors-the name was chosen by Suchong himself-had the choice.

_Click, clack, click, clack._

Ryan took a few steps. At each step, the rod of his cane collided with the ground force, the clinking whole. It was a metal rod made mostly of brass, he was adopted shortly after his assassination attempt.

As he had promised Steinmann, he refused to use ADAM to his leg and went to reject all the rest. As a result, the wound had healed badly, condemning the master of the city to eternal limp.

But Ryan did not care the condition of his calf. Mattered little to him having to move with some support. He was even willing to give his other leg and all its members if it could save Rapture.

_Click, clack, click, clack._

Ryan turned on itself. He stroked a fingertip conical knob of his cane, engraved with a stylized R, Ryan Industries logo.

Sullivan insisted that munisse a cane sword, but Ryan refused flatly. It was already almost permanent custody of his men, he was not more, to carry a weapon!

Ryan turned his gaze across the room. A laboratory with white walls, without decoration. A group of scientists working hard on the elements of the Protector armor under the leadership of Dr. Yi Suchong.

Chinese stood just to the right of his master and Ryan could not help but think that this happens quite often these days.

Sullivan had both right and wrong. Atlas of the militia was well crushed in a few hours, at the cost of significant human and material damage. And the least was not, according to Ryan, defacing Diane.

But Atlas was able to disperse his army in the population of Rapture, where he slowly corrupted the people by serving his ideological brew. Power to the people, equality for all, more poverty, ... that kind of nonsense.

This system was tried to the surface. Its balance sheet? Millions of deaths in the name of sacrosanct communist ideal.

If it was only words and ideas, Ryan could live with it. After all, many rapturiens did not hide their sympathies for leftist ideals. But what Ryan could not stand was that the lies of Atlas gained ground.

Day after day, like a tumor grew, the number of supporters of Atlas was growing. Bolder and did not hesitate to terrorize Rapture by attacks or violent actions. Each week, residents of affluent neighborhoods of Rapture would die horribly. And accordingly, each week, retaliation Sullivan fell on the poor of the city.

And between the two, remained essentially Rapture, the median population. Nor rich enough to embrace the upscale neighborhoods of the city, nor poor enough to find themselves relegated to the slums, was the backbone of the population, that both camps trying to rally to his cause.

Ryan as Atlas knew that the war would be won by the side that has the population with him.

_The Project please? Suchong asked, voice feverish excitement.

Ryan fingertips touched the thick armor protector. It was freezing cold. Andrew wondered for a moment if the equipment people that would feel for the rest of their lives this cold bite.

_This Interesting confessed Ryan.

He could honestly not hide his admiration for the potential destruction and power represented by the Protector. Doped with appropriate plasmids, it would be as fast as a cheetah, as strong as a bull and as strong as an elephant.

_And You intend to link these ...

_Protecteurs Said Suchong finishing the sentence instead of his master.

_ ... _things_ , 'said Ryan, the Little Sisters?

The "protected" Tenenbaum had quickly become the main target of the fans of Atlas. The ADAM they had in the body was a strategic issue. Now, plasmids and weapons became the Little Sisters were the armory. And accounted Protective gunsmith.

_Absolument, Said the doctor, smiling more than ever. They will be companions of small and spend every second of their lives to protect them. I can assure you that no man would dare Atlas rub them.

_Mais They are not invincible, right?

Suchong conceded the point:

_Certes. But unless their opponents attack them with rockets or I do not know what war material, the guards will be able to fight with anyone.

_And For what people in the armor? There he no other way than to be grafted?

Suchong shook his head:

_No, Mr. Ryan, this is impossible. They must become the armor. This is the condition _sine qua non_ of our success. But luckily, we can persuade them.

Ryan sighed deeply. Under normal circumstances, he would have refused such a project. But since January 1, they were no longer in a situation _normal_ . It was war after all.

There was and there would be excess course. But would return to normal once the wave passed. Yes, everything.

Rapture could start on the right foot, trampling parasites and going even further in his doctrine, that of man.

_And How ...

Ryan hesitated to use the terms:

_ ... _persuade_ you guinea pigs?

Suchong did not answer and motioned for Andrew to follow him.

_Click, clack, click, clack._

Suchong guided the small group itself is Ryan, some scientists and members of the honor guard, in the maze of its laboratories. Andrew seemed to see for the hundredth time that white corridor and sterile, the same color as those of hospitals.

Finally, the Chinese stopped before a small door, a little behind. He composed a complex code to unlock it, then opened the door.

When he entered, Ryan was at first surprised by the dark places. It was unusual in local Suchong where everything was lit the same immaculate white light.

The smell of blood, body fluids and fat made his way to the nostrils of the master of the city. Instinctively, he clapped a handkerchief against his nose and mouth.

Scientists and bodyguards were also the expression of disgust on his face. Suchong instead wore a serene face.

The doctor lowered a lever and a dim light illuminated the center of the room. An operating table and sat there on it, a man firmly bound by leather straps.

Ryan took a few steps forward, at the invitation of Suchong.

By looking more closely, it was not a man. Or rather, it does no longer one: his skin was stretched over bones, like wax stretched. She was as gray as stone and his eyes seemed to shine like wisps. He no longer had the skull few wispy tufts, tawny. His chest heaved gently to the rhythm of his inspirations irregular.

His mouth was open, revealing rotten teeth, stained red.

Saliva black, viscous and sticky dripped down her lips, smelling of decay.

But that was not the strange man seemed to have strange bumps on the face and body, as giant cysts.

Andrew had never seen anything like it. From a mechanical reflex, due to his religious upbringing, Ryan signed the orthodox way: first the right shoulder and joining the thumb, index and middle finger.

He regretted this gesture he regretted the very moment he was doing.

_Qu'est-What is that? he asked after rejecting a moment the handkerchief from his mouth.

_A Splicer.

_A What?

Suchong repeated the term that Ryan still could not grasp.

_This You see there, explained Suchong a didactic tone, this is what the result of overconsumption ADAM. This man stepped injections until his body can not take it. He eventually evolve completely chaotic, without any control. A bit like a tree without guardian suddenly grew and grew crooked.

Ryan put his hand Splicer Suchong but grabbed her wrist forcefully:

_Do Not touch sir! He is sedated but remains extremely dangerous. His brain literally melted. All he wants is a next injection ADAM. And believe me when I tell you he would be willing to do anything to find the smallest drop.

_This Horrible, Ryan whispered in bringing the handkerchief against her mouth.

_This Especially convenient for us, said Suchong, pragmatic. We capture them, and the lobotomisons we enclose in the armor of the Protector. They are no longer human beings, sir. There is no qualms about having. And he chose to be, right?

Yes ... probably, the doctor was right. This was going to suffer this man was monstrous course, but he had made his choice. He chose to increase the dose of ADAM without even had injected the substance miracle of strength in the veins.

Ryan was glad to have never yielded to the temptation of Adam.

_And How do you make the connection?

_I Still looking for a suitable plasmid, confessed Suchong gently guiding his master to the output. Research is time consuming and expensive but we should soon have our first functional protectors.

Suchong lowered the handle and plunged the room into darkness. Only the horrible smell still reported the presence of the poor devil attached to the operating table.

The group left the room as the Chinese closed carefully. He then explained to Ryan that there was now a small number of splicers in Rapture, under strong surveillance and they represented no danger to the city.

But Ryan listened to half. He could not take his mind the vision of Splicer, imprisoned in the abyss Suchong laboratories.

He signed all the papers that aids Suchong handed him the reading only. He had only one desire, to leave the building.

When the doors closed behind him, Ryan fell to his knees and sucked in great gulps, as if he had forgotten to breathe since he had discovered the Splicer. Two members of his guard rushed to support him and help him recover.

Fortunately, the crisis was short. He stood up and wiped his face dripping with sweat with his handkerchief.

Ryan had originally planned to go to Hephaestus to work but it would be impossible to undertake anything before this vision of horror leaves his head. And he knew only one person who can cure him.

The Garden of Eve was the club's most exclusive gentlemen all Rapture. Few men were never to have set foot. It was the most beautiful rapturiennes. Albeit at a high price but then no one had the best without having to pay the price.

At this hour, the locals were still closed. It was too early, the Garden of Eve did not open to customers until eight or nine o'clock. But Andrew Ryan was not like any other customer.

Beyond being the most powerful man in the city, Ryan had a reputation unusual in the brothel. He might get there fairly regularly, he had always despised girls that he had were folded in four, however, sometimes offering real goddesses. But there was only one who found grace in the heart of Andrew.

Jasmine was waiting in her room, the most luxurious building. She sat on her bed and wearing a crimson robe with ruby brooch, a gift he had given her. In fact, upon reflection, that he had rarely seen wearing a color other than red.

No sooner had he reached the door a frank smile lit up the face of the young woman and she threw herself into his arms and kissed passionately.

Ryan hugged him with delight. She wore a new perfume. A smell probably a little too heady, but still very enjoyable.

This was when he was with her he knew why he loved her. With her, nothing mattered neither his age nor his injuries or his doubts, nothing existed. He loved her and that was all that mattered.

He felt himself slipping with her on the bed and feel from far, far away, the memory of Splicer and dirt from the world ...

_Qu'est Do you think of the children? he asked, turning to her.

Jasmine was still curled up in the sheets while Andrew was dressed and finished to put her shoes. Sitting at the foot of the bed, he looked lovingly. He had spent some very pleasant hours with her but it was time to return to work.

_From What? she asked, voice heavy with the fatigue.

_The Children, he repeated with a playful tone. You know, like adults, but smaller.

She sat up on the pillow and stared. He seemed to see it fade without really understanding why.

_Andrew, She hesitated ... I ...

He kindly cut of hands:

_Ça Goes. No problem. You do not have to answer me right away.

_This Not that I do not want Andrew. It's just that ...

He cut once again approaching her and kissing:

_Encore Once, okay. I know this is a big decision. I just wanted you to think about it, okay?

_D'accord She said without ceasing to fade.

He reluctantly gave in, promising he would soon see. He had no sooner reached the door of her room she was already missing him.

He may have made a mistake in speaking children. They never really addressed the problem, diverting the conversation from Jasmine its commitment in this area. Still, it was a concern increasingly haunting Ryan. He needed a child.

He had already Rapture itself, of course. But would still prefer a heir _human_ . He wanted to pass on his name and legacy. And he would like to ensure the continuity of his lineage before his death.

It was not yet in his grave but came closer every day. He lived with a cancer that he cured with great difficulty and a bullet in the leg. To complete it all, he still had almost sixty years. More than half a century.

Ryan beat the pavement for a moment before the Garden of Eve. Since he was in Fort Frolic as well enjoy to see Cohen.

He found the artist in the Hall of the Navy, doing auditions. His friend was down in a chair with red velvet and seemed to judge a young man standing on the stage. A small orchestra, placed in the pit, accompanying benefits.

Three men were sitting alongside the master artist. Ryan thought it would be those that Cohen was an acceptable level to act as stooges. Cohen was drastic in its choice of partners. None other than himself was through his eyes. Sander but could not provide all the shows Rapture alone. To his chagrin, however.

Ryan advanced to Cohen who rose to greet him. The two men gave a free hug.

_Andrew! exclaimed the virtuoso. How are you?

_I Am well my friend, Ryan replied, smiling. Have you had the time to take care of the work that I asked you?

_Absolument, Cohen replied, snapping his fingers.

Immediately, one of three men sitting alongside Sander literally threw a bunch of sheets and pulled out a copy which appeared repeatedly erased.

_Merci Hector says Cohen seizing the front sheet of the tender to Ryan. As you can see, the title is simple and evocative _Rapture Stand up, raise you_ !

Ryan himself with a nod. He had ordered a hymn to Cohen. An anthem for Rapture. He saw no one other than the master artist to create this work. It had to be perfect. And Sander was perfection.

It might seem strange that Rapture needs a hymn. After all, Ryan had repeatedly said that it was not a flag that was the greatness of the man, but the wearer.

But a hymn was essential in troubled times like now. They needed one more symbol to rally people to their cause.

Ryan began to read silently the first lines of the song:

_Oh Rapture stands up, raises you!_

_We turn our hopes to the heavens._

_Oh Rapture stands up, raises you!_

_On your wings, fly our dreams. *_

The first lines he liked well. He was about to continue when Cohen seemed to shake abruptly

_No, It is nothing without music see! We need the music ... and a singer ..

. Sander looked around him and cried with a loud voice:

_Musique!

Immediately, the orchestra began to play. Cohen closed his eyes and made a sudden movement of hand for the man on stage started singing.

Ryan had to admit that it was much better music.

But while he was addressing the chorus, Sander suddenly opened his eyes and commanded sternly to stop the orchestra. Ryan did not understand what was happening. Everything was is he suddenly annoyed?

_You SING YOU WRONG! Cohen roared the poor young man.

Ryan had noticed nothing. But it was true that he was not nearly as picky as Cohen a musical point of view.

The young singer mumbled a poor defense that Cohen was not long to waltz in every sense of the word. The artist rushed the stage and grabbed her by the collar towards:

_Êtes You telling me that I'm wrong? I, Sander Cohen make a mistake? We see that you do not know me, young man! I was already cheered when you were a baby! Do you realize that you have a perfect work ransack your mediocrity?

Ryan tried to calm his friend

_Sander, Please. It was not so bad.

_No So serious? repeated Cohen. Not so serious? Coming from a mistake on this ode, it stains my name and yours! It defiles whole Rapture! It is a filthy parasite! He is no better than Culpepper and his band of brawlers!

A short smile split his face Ryan. So that's the problem. Cohen was still obsessed with her rival. The two artists were engaged in fierce game. It was nothing more than the same civil war that tore Rapture but a purely musical point of view.

One of the men stood sat and tried to calm Cohen putting her hand on his shoulder

_Maître, Please. Give you a show.

Cohen pulled away with a jerk:

_Mais When I an entertainer, Silas, is infinitely superior to what this pathetic who stands before you!

The so-called Silas made a nod to the man who had brought the song to Cohen, Hector and his companion to come and lend a hand. These are executed and, by dint of flattery, managed to convince Cohen to calm down. They persuaded him to go for a few minutes in her box. The three men sighed with relief of the same movement when the master artist said they took a break and walked away.

They surrounded the victim of Cohen and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder

_Tu Really have a knack for putting the master pissed you! said Hector, laughing uproariously.

The young man did not dare look up. Ryan looked at him carefully. He was young: a little over twenty years, at most. His hair was light brown and face riddled with freckles. He seemed very affected by what had happened.

Ryan walked up to him and told him he had found his performance very good.

_Sauf Your respect Mr. Ryan replied Silas who stood a little behind, a benefit "very good" does not our master. It requires perfect.

Ryan winced when Silas uttered the word "master".

Cohen _Why you qualify for this title?

_Parce That's what it is Mr. Ryan. We are his disciples. Or at least try to become.

Silas himself pointed the finger:

_I Am called Silas Cobb. Whoever brought the master sheet is Hector Rodriguez. Whoever said nothing since earlier, Martin Finnegan and the little that comes to be crucified by Master Cohen is Kyle Fitzpatrick.

Fitzpatrick shyly shook his head. Ryan discussed a few minutes with the disciples of Cohen. It was nice to have another point of view on his master artist.

Their discussion lasted until Cohen redo its appearance. he seemed calmer and calmer. He invited Ryan to stay to hear the end of the song, but Andrew chose to decline.

_I Think it's best that you give me the final version in a few days. I was delighted to meet you gentlemen, he said to the disciples Cohen greeting them.

These mingled with thanks to Ryan. Especially the young Fitzpatrick.

Ryan whistled away from the Hall of the Navy. Life should not be easy for the disciples of Cohen. Their master was also steeped in ego than talent. But as Ryan had said he was confident they would one day be as great artists.

Andrew sighed with regret leaving Fort Frolic. Those few hours had plunged into the carefree pre-war when all was well in Rapture.

But there was nothing to worry about. Atlas of movement was well eventually stop one way or another. Ryan and his clan triumph. The master of the city give a grand celebration to celebrate the end of the war. And Andrew would be ringside seat to see Cohen and artists of Fort Frolic shine in all their glory.

* Author's note: there is no French translation of official anthem of the city _Rise, Rapture, Rise._ translation that is in this chapter is entirely my own and do not correspond with Another translation that you might find on the Internet, for example.


	18. Chapter 18

_Rapture, four months earlier_

With a gesture unsteady, Andrew Ryan pulled a linen handkerchief white breast pocket of his suit and wiped his hands repeatedly. These were moist and trembling.

Ryan raged in perceiving that he was qu'inonder fabric sweat and as a result, his efforts were in vain. He rolled the ball handkerchief and stuffed unceremoniously in one of his pants pockets.

He leaned back in his seat and kissed the piece look. His office seemed darker than usual. The tension was palpable and he had the impression that the air itself is thinned. But this was nothing but an illusion, Andrew knew. The air coming directly from Arcadia, air so pure that you could breathe at the surface, perhaps even purer.

But the fact was, he had trouble breathing. Consequence of his cancer, no doubt.

Around him gathered in a semicircle, were the members of his inner circle. Of Suchong to Sullivan, MacDonagh Cohen, all were as anxious as their master.

The situation was critical. Terribly critical.

Ryan felt like an old monarch preparing the last lines of defense to protect his kingdom one last time barbarian hordes.

Andrew wondered whether what he felt was the same feeling that had chilled the heart of Romulus Augustus as Rome put the barbarians to pieces and he saw his empire sink.

Andrew went back upright in his chair before leaning on his desk. Here, a bill awaiting his signature. A pen had already been prepared and Ryan already felt the smell of the ink it up the nostrils.

For the thousandth time today, the master of Rapture reads the text he had before:

**Extraordinary laws relating to the security of Rapture.**

**Seen daily attacks carried by the parasites to the people of Rapture, the Council has decided to apply the following laws, until the return of calm in the city.**

**1: The Board of Rapture is officially dissolved. His authority rests solely with the former chairman, Andrew Ryan.**

**2: The laws relating to freedom of expression, assembly and movement, are suspended.**

**3: The Rapture Security Forces have the authority to arrest and interrogate and detain any inhabitant of the city, regardless of its position.**

**4: A curfew is in place. Any resident caught outside his home beyond 20 hours without permission will be arrested on the spot and taken to prison.**

Is followed by a host of other similar legislation, which was to ruffle the hair of Ryan:

**25: All Rapturien taken offense parasitism will be sentenced to death.**

The death penalty.

A Rapture. It was something against which Ryan had always prepared. Laws contained in this paper, would transform his City of the Impossible City Horrible.

If signed, he abolished all that represented Rapture. It destroys freedom, the lighthouse that guided the city out of the fog. He put his initials, it would not be better than all the world's dictators.

_It Must sign sir! Suchong encouraged. If these laws are not enforced as soon as possible is the existence of Rapture is threatened.

_Do Not sign, MacDonagh begged, her voice trembling. Rapture is an ideal, a wonderful ideal. If you violate rapturienne value par excellence, freedom, then yes, Rapture disappear.

Suchong and MacDonagh. MacDonagh and Suchong. Real opposite in their thinking: Suchong was a pragmatist, willing to break all limits to achieve his goal. For him, the end always justified the means.

Instead, Bill was a powerful idealistic. He believed in Rapture perhaps even stronger than Ryan himself.

There never would cross the boundaries. And he would do anything to prevent someone else does.

During the war, MacDonagh and Suchong had continued to compete. One represented the moderate camp Ryan, the other extremists. Andrew himself had not stopped to hesitate between the two pipes to take shared between utopianism and radicalism of Bill Yi.

While recent months, Ryan had slowly hardened its positions, joining the camp Suchong gently. He would have liked to think like MacDonagh but the situation was completely uncontrollable.

Year.

It would be a year since the revolt erupted Atlas. One year experience day after day attacks, a year to live in perpetual fear.

If they are radical positions Suchong allowed to respond to this threat. They were effective. They allowed to protect themselves from Atlas and its parasites.

Ryan grabbed the pen and weighed. It seemed incredibly heavy, even more than usual. It was his favorite pen: black as ebony, decorated with engraved silver. He had for years before Rapture.

At the time, he had to save for months to afford it. And it was with him that he had signed the contracts that had made him a billionaire.

Andrew put down the pen on his desk and stared wearily carefully the members of his circle.

The most faithful of his men, true extensions of his will. Ryan rested on them, they were his counselors, his friends.

But none of it could not be of any help. Decision he would take, he had to make alone.

He knew that if he signed all follow him, except Bill. Sullivan would be difficult to accept the decision, being strictly against the death penalty. But he was a soldier. He would obey the orders of his master.

Ryan closed his eyes for a moment, as if to convince himself that it was all a nightmare and that everything would work out. But of course, it might be a nightmare, but he was not dreaming.

If he did nothing, as he advised MacDonagh, all Rapture he condemned to death. He gave free rein to the assassins and rogue Atlas.

He had no choice.

Decision he would take was terrible but he preferred the latter book that his city chaos of Atlas and his supporters.

With a long, long sigh, Ryan took the pen and signed without delay, in a dead silence.

This is what was done. He had to turn Rapture into a dictatorship.

MacDonagh did not hide his disappointment. His eyes were misty but he was too proud to cry in front of the master of the city and his circle.

_Monsieur Ryan ... Bill whispered a voice pale. You have to activate yourself destruction of the city. I hope you will realize and be able to turn the tide before it is too late. Do not count on me to follow you. Farewell, Andrew.

MacDonagh left without looking back once. Andrew stood up, ready to run after his former right Suchong but stopped laying his hand on his chest.

_This Need to follow, sir. Bill made his choice, he must now assume.

_is It that you are telling me that I have to let a friend of more than five years?

_who Is not with us is against us, sir, just said Yi. Only that you remain loyal to the end, the men in this room.

Ryan watched carefully designated Suchong men.

Sullivan, Cohen, Steinmann, Suchong. These four men had sworn to follow their master until the end of the world. If Ryan was the head of Rapture, his right arm were undoubtedly members of the city, in the physical sense.

Again, Suchong was right. While Rapture collapsed, they would remain faithful. They never would join the ranks of Atlas. Ferraient and they do anything to protect the City of the Impossible parasites.

Ryan felt he needed to raise in rank. Under the new laws, Ryan had all the power now.

The Council was no more. But Andrew could not reign alone on the whole Rapture. He needed these men. They were the elite of their profession and are of great directors Rapture.

_Messieurs, Ryan said in a voice almost inaudible, I just make a decision. Each of you will be appointed director of a sector of Rapture where he will have full power to maintain will be directly under me and not have to answer in front of me.

He felt a wave of joy felt that struck his followers, with the notable exception of Sullivan, as he uttered these words. He adoubait, there was no better word.

_Joseph Began Ryan, you will load the Medical Pavilion. Sander, Fort Frolic is yours. Yi, I give you the Point Prometheus and Protectors Training Grounds. Sullivan will head the Treasury of Neptune.

Sullivan was not slow to voice his disappointment:

_Sauf Your respect, sir, I have not an administrator. I am a policeman, a soldier. My job is to maintain order.

_And This is exactly what you do. Sullivan, the area that I entrust to you is dangerous. It was the former haunt of Fontaine. I do not want men to use Atlas of smuggling against us.

I _Mais ...

_It Enough, Ryan said dryly. I need your help to _all_ he insisted particularly on the word to get out of this mess.

Sullivan looked down and said nothing. Ryan was satisfied. The Irish would be a perfect area manager although he did not yet know. Ryan left floating a short silence, then turned again to his followers:

_Messieurs I count on you to be inflexible. Do not stop by any moral religious or otherwise. The Great Chain is what matters and we must do everything in our power to save.

All agreed, even Sullivan.

_Alors Is decided, said Andrew. These laws are applicable now.

_In This case, threw Steinmann, perhaps he should take care of the inmates of the Apollo Square.

Ryan frowned:

_Oui Probably doctor, you're right.

Place Apollo was the largest of all Rapture. She stood at the crossroads of all subway lines in the city and not far from the upscale homes in the city. In recent weeks, the men held there Ryan parasites defiled City: Atlas supporters, smugglers, criminals, ...

The place had become a veritable prison camp, guarded twenty-four hours out of twenty-four. Ryan gave a simple statement: no one should escape. But he had to admit that these parasites were annoying. Even behind bars, they remained a danger. Steinmann was perhaps because he was probably getting rid of them permanently. If the noise disappeared, it was essential that Atlas camp went well. And Andrew was sure to hold the city if the opponents held on Apollo Square law suffered twenty-five.

Ryan got up slowly from his chair, put on his coat and hat and grabbed his cane. He explained that he wanted to go one last time to inmates and provide them a last chance for was not a monster. On the surface, when one of his employees who had betrayed it-rare, Andrew always gave him a way out. An opportunity to redeem his mistakes and start anew. He let the employee choose and according to its decision, the ax could fall or not.

Ryan did not see why such a method could not be applied in the ocean.

New directors Rapture decided to accompany their master. Ryan had more the impression of having a court around him. Soldiers of his personal guard and the small group encadrèrent pathA until the Apollo Square.

Along the way, Cohen seemed nervous and more whimsical than usual. Andrew asked him what was happening and the artist's response was direct:

_This Anna Culpepper sir. This woman makes me mad. Not only she has no talent but she can laugh at my artists! You know how she called me? "The Nightingale Ryan." Even his insults, she is poor!

Ryan said nothing, preferring to think in silence. Despite the fact that the animosity towards Culpepper Cohen was above all fear, fear of one day match or even exceed his level, Ryan should recognize that the musician became a political issue. His songs were more critical, forward Ryan, Rapture and the Great Chain. Andrew did not know if Culpepper was pro-Atlas and honestly, he doubted it. But she was a gene, a gene terrible. Moreover, Sander became the less productive when his mind was obsessed with her rival and Ryan needed him to support rapturiens creeds. It was the leader of the propaganda-because let's be honest, it was the right word-Ryan and the words were just as important as the action. Cohen slowly built the edifice of victory songs as Suchong exprériences by its scientific or Steinmann its advanced surgery.

He was one of the cornerstones of the system and by threatening Culpepper, casts a danger to the whole building.

Again, Ryan returned to the metaphor of the hand that put the body at risk.

While the group came to Olympia Heights, all the fanciest apartments throughout the city where also lived the bulk of his court, Ryan paused for a moment and stop by usually smoothed his mustache.

_I Think you're right Sander, he finally let go. Culpepper becomes a gene for any Rapture. The simple fact that she lives in a nearby housing to yours my friends, is unbearable.

He snapped his fingers as to call a dog:

_Sullivan. You'll load it.

_is Do you ask me to commit murder, sir? Irish asked, his face serious.

_N'est It not you who had ensured that Capone time, you and your men had recourse to some radical solutions to get rid of those who threatened the established order?

_We We loaded rapists, mobsters and murderers. This woman is a singer and no offense to Sander, an artist!

Cohen winced as if he had bitten into a rotten fruit. Ryan stuck his gaze in that of the head of security:

_And How is it different? Will you tell me that Breker statues or buildings were not widely Speer as dangerous and misguided that any policy of Hitler? If Culpepper is quite similar. Through his songs, it dissolves our unit when it should be stronger than ever. This woman is a parasite!

_Tant It does not fall within the scope of section twenty-five, I ...

_I Do not care ACT! Andrew roared rushing on his subordinate and grabbing him by the collar. In case you have not noticed, we are at war and that, since the ascension of Fontaine! I want to die leaving behind a peaceful world and to do that, I would even do anything! Do you understand?

Sullivan, far stronger than his master could get rid of her without grabbing the lesser evil. However, he bowed his head and said in a low voice:

_No. But I obey.

Satisfied, Ryan released his grip and left, followed by his court, leaving Sullivan did not move.

_I Want this problem fixed before tonight officer, Ryan shouted from afar. I count on you my friend. Do not leave me.

Finally, the group came to the place Apollo. Men belonging to the security, custody or simply personal militia Ryan watched carefully whereabouts. High fences blocked the bottlenecks that led to the Apollo Square.

When they saw their master, the soldiers began to cheer and shout for joy. Ryan felt his heart burn with pride. Thus, the flame of the Great Chain was not dead. There were still men and women to believe in him. It was wonderful.

The group's leader, a young man of only twenty years, walked up to Andrew, fell to his knees and bowed his head, kissing her hand.

_Mon Lord! That we owe the pleasure of your august presence?

Ryan's first reaction was to withdraw her hand violently. The young man certainly worshiped. He saw it as his master, literally. But Ryan did not want this stuff. He was not worthy. He gently withdrew her hand, and with the help of his cane, knelt down to be at the same height as him. Immediately, the young Ryan looked down but forced to stare into his eyes, grabbing his face in his hands.

_I Am not your lord God or my child. I am Andrew Ryan. I'm only human.

The more he talked, the more he found his false speech. His words have real summers ago a short time but now it was pure hypocrisy. It was no longer a man. A man did not have his court, custody or power without limits. Andrew had this yet. In reflecting well, "lord" was perhaps the appropriate term.

_A Man who thank you for your loyalty. Your faithfulness to all. I know that thanks to you, we will prevail.

_Oui Mr. Ryan, stammered the young man, his voice choked with sobs of joy. Yes, we will win the war.

Ryan smiled and stood up, helped by his guards. Then he turned again to the young man:

_I Have to talk to inmates.

_Monsieur Ryan, one of the soldiers objected, it's too dangerous. We can not let you do that.

_We Are at war. Any Rapture is dangerous. But big events just happen and I counted the proclaim my enemies myself.

_Do You can not send an emissary? asked Suchong. I know many who would love to rapturiens ..

_non The cut sharply Ryan. Just now. Make me a passage.

The soldiers opened the gates slowly while members of the personal guard reinforced even more protection around the main city.

When he set foot on the place, Ryan had the impression of having plunged headlong into the mire: so far as was his eyes, you could see a mass swarming and formless, dressed in rags and releasing a terrible smell. Ryan struggled to see human beings. For him, it was only vermin.

_Ecoutez Me! he cried with a loud voice. I'm here in person to offer you a deal.

The prisoners entreregardèrent, flabbergasted. they just could not seem to realize that Andrew Ryan in person stood before them.

_A Series of extraordinary legislation has been passed. I am now the only legitimate authority to Rapture.

This statement caused an outcry in the mass of prisoners, quickly subsided, however, a few warning shots from the soldiers.

_Rapture Is in a state of war. And you, cried he, pointing the finger of prisoners, you are my enemy. I have a legitimate right to enforce all of you! But Andrew Ryan can be I get out of the place, I would leave the door open for five minutes. Anyone who crosses these doors within this period will be considered amnesty. In contrast, the new death penalty waiting who try to pass off this time.

A wave of panic through the crowd. Ryan passed on, speaking louder:

_You Have succumbed to the lies of Atlas! I offer you one last chance for redemption.

_Atlas Cares about people! shouted someone in the crowd.

_non Is wrong, Andrew objected. That's what he wants you to believe. I like Rapture.

_In Becoming a dictator! screamed a woman's voice hoarse.

_You Do not even understand the meaning of the words that come out of your mouth, Ryan spat with contempt. If the Roman Republic was threatened, were given special powers to a magistrate for a maximum of six months. At the end of that date or after the situation stabilized, the dictator made his powers to other judges.

Judging by the shouts and jeers, not interested in Roman history that few opponents of Ryan.

_Quand The dust settles in Rapture, I would be making its powers to the Board. And we live in peace.

New crowd movement, content with great difficulty by his supporters. Ryan thought it useless to continue to talk to these vermin. He turned and repassed the door.

He decided to wait five minutes to see if some fans of Atlas were smart enough to know which side rally. But nobody left the place.

A profound weariness struck Andrew while he ordered the doors closed. Immediately, as if it was only this time they realized they had left to spend their only chance of survival, the prisoners rushed to the gates.

The guards did not hesitate to push them sometimes with extreme violence.

A man came in through the doors yet, benefiting from the overflow of the security forces. He could do a few steps before the personal guard Ryan takes care of him, one of his bodyguards reached for his victim and an electric arc gushed. The plasmid struck the man in the chest which froze the body paralyzed by power amps. The prisoner fell to the ground and in a last ditch effort, managed to grab Ryan by his pant leg.

_Monsieur Ryan ... he groaned. Please ... we ... are ... human beings.

_Humains?

Ryan repeated the word as if he seemed to have been delivered in a foreign language.

_You Are not "human" Ryan said in a calm voice asking the ferrule of his cane on the forehead of the dying. Just one cockroach. A parasite, in fact.

Ryan finished his sentence with a powerful blow that did let go of his victim. Immediately, soldiers surrounded him and finished him.

Andrew left the scene without giving a look behind him as the stampede of prisoners turned into a riot. Just before leaving, Andrew gave his instructions to the young man who had received:

_Matez This riot by any means possible. Kill if necessary. And as soon as the situation is stable, apply section twenty-five.

_Oui Sir. Specific instructions on the law?

_I Want men Atlas are what they are exposed to challenging us. Build stems and do your duty my child.

The young man nodded with unconcealed joy.

Ryan left the Apollo Square without wasting more time, always followed his court. Suchong was full of praise for his mastery of the situation and firmness. Ryan did not know what to think honestly. The death penalty for all these people, it was horrible but necessary. Ryan protect his city by all means possible. Suchong finally was right, it was more half measures.

Sullivan awaited the group at the bottom of Olympus Heights. His face was even darker than before and pressed against him a knitted blanket, half-finished, red and black. Ryan did not need to ask if the work had been done, he knew that Sullivan was executed. Andrew preferred to avoid talking about the cover. Sullivan must have his reasons for taking this trophy.

The Irish came to join the court of his master in silence. Ryan did not say anything about the return trip.

Time was no longer to apitoiements philosophical about good and evil. Andrew had left Fontaine and Atlas as parasites corrupting his city too long. It was clean Rapture, purify.

Remorse would be for later.

Now, only those acts had.


	19. Chapter 19

Foreword by the author:

Before the ethical, moral and philosophical raised Bioshock, the game's storyline is based primarily on a twist.

The twist in question will be revealed in the following chapters. I can only advise those who read without knowing the game play and reach a minimum level of Rapture Central Control to fully enjoy the game's story

In other words, there will be spoilers from this chapter. Readers to make their choice.

_Rapture, two weeks earlier._

In the large hall leading to his office, Andrew Ryan leaned his head slightly to the side to better see the corpse. It was a woman, thirty years, although the blows she had received did not help to get a clear idea about his age. She was wearing a green dress and black stockings. His body was straight and his head hanging miserably on the side. One would have to believe if a sleeping black iron harpoon did not cross his heart, nailing it to one of the pillars of the hall. Even dead, an expression of pure hatred froze his face into the death.

Ryan did not know his name and he did not care. It was part-or rather, _was part_ - of this great wave of pseudo-conspirators and assassins who echoes the great takeover of Ryan, a few months ago. Ryan had expected that the events and the draconian measures taken by disrupting the camp inhabitants of Rapture. But to imagine that the victim would almost daily assassination attempts ... he had never thought of that.

Andrew tore his gaze from the dead to secure the entire hall. There, on almost every column, an assassin had suffered the same fate. Nailed to the pillar, as a hunting trophy. Ryan had initially been against such practices, but once again, Suchong was finally convinced.

_Quel Was his name? asked the master of the city in a playful tone, as if watching a corpse nailed to a pillar was perfectly normal.

_Anya Andersdotter, sir, a member of his private guard. It was designer shoes for women.

_Elle Would probably have stayed in this area here. The assassination was not for her, I guess.

There is still some time, he would be shocked himself to take such remarks. Make macabre humor as it was an incredible bad taste. But it was one of the only things he had left. When he saw himself in the mirror, he could see Andrew Ryan Andrew Ryan liberal but the despot. It always disgusting. From its position of supreme ruler of Rapture, he could control the life and death of any citizen of the city. His circle of familiar administrators used their full powers with joy unconcealed. Nobody dared to publicly confront the Ryan camp for fear of death.

Section twenty-five had been a bomb in Rapture. After the death of prisoners in Apollo Square, the plaza became the gallows Rapture, its Montfaucon. The bodies of the most dangerous parasites sometimes stayed for weeks to swing from a rope. The smell was awful but Ryan did not care that the olfactory pleasure could offer instead. It was intended to terrify. A show Atlas and his men their doom. Because the agitator had not yet been captured. He was holed up in the slums of the city and despite daily raids, he escaped again and again to the men of Sullivan.

The Irish had also dwindled since the incident Culpepper. He had lost a lot of weight and his face was dug. He spent his time mumbling unintelligible words, dragging the blanket with him everywhere he had taken from the singer. With hindsight, Ryan realized he should not have to send the job. Many men who were delighted to have summers accomplish this task. But what was done was done and could not return it.

Ryan tore his macabre contemplation. He had more important things to do than watching dead after all.

It was a sound of heavy footsteps attracted the attention of Andrew to the entrance of the hall, opposite the doors that led to his office. The noise came closer. With a gesture of the hand, Ryan ordered his bodyguard to stand ready to defend it. The two men waited and breathed a sigh of relief recognizing Bill McDonagh coming towards them.

The former right-hand man Ryan seemed exhausted. His mustache, was usually treated disheveled and dirty. Large rings adorned Bill's face. His clothes were in tatters same. Andrew felt both relieved to see a friend and struggled to find in this condition. But the Great Chain that had happened to him?

_Andrew, McDonagh said in a voice so weak that Ryan had to strain to grasp. We must put an end to all this, he whispered, kissing the room with a hand gesture.

_Mettre What end?

_A Dictatorship.

Andrew felt a deep depression the watch. It seemed that even now, Bill did not understand.

_I Can not do that, laconically said Andrew.

_Mais Why? Bill whined. You are the supreme ruler of the city: Instruct everyone to lay down their arms. Repeal laws extraordinary meeting its powers to the Board. It is not too late.

_Trop Late for what? Ryan asked, so severely that his bodyguard strengthen his grip on his rifle. Too late to make amends? So you believe in redemption? I do remember my friend that God is persona non grata in Rapture?

_I Do not talk about God. I'm talking about you.

_Moi? Andrew wondered.

_You Are Rapture. And if you continue in that path, the path of madness, the city will die.

_Rapture Not die! Ryan shouted. Why do you think I gave reason to proposals Suchong? They allow me to save our city!

McDonagh ran his hands over the face wearily.

_is Do you know how Suchong has to survive the massacre of Nanking?

_It Delivered opium to imperial soldiers. It is no secret to anyone.

_You Can say it worked sir. It would be more accurate.

_And Then? Andrew asked sharply. In the past what we are interested in Dr. Suchong happen in the present case?

_Mais This man has no morals, see, McDonagh said weakly. He manipulates you. For his interest

_Théorie Stupid.

_You Think? Before the war, Suchong was nothing other than the leading scientists working on plasmids. Today, he became a director. One of your key advisors.

_You Want to break because it is your ideological enemy.

_MAIS GOOD BLOOD, ANDREW!

Only the hand of Ryan asked in extremis on the gun barrel of his bodyguard could prevent it from firing.

_If You decree a truce with Atlas, life will resume. If you persist, you condemn to death Rapture.

_I Always leads my bid to an end, Ryan whistled a contemptuous voice. I've gone too far to back out now. When the wine is drawn, it must be drunk.

_Alors Transigerez not you?

_Jamais Negotiations with parasites. Just eradication.

_Alors, You leave me no choice, Bill said, pointing to the bodyguard for his friend.

Immediately, the man's clothing caught fire. He began to drop his weapon, running frantically in circles for a while before attempting to extinguish the flames by rolling on the ground. Nothing worked and he eventually falter. A few seconds later, a corpse burned, emitting a terrible smell of burning was now in the room. Ryan had not left eye Bill a second. So also was boosted by ADAM ... he had just used a plasmid of fire. In other words, he heated air until the oxygen ignites. It was a war plasmids most impressive.

_I Am sorry to get there, said Bill leaving a small revolver from his pocket and pointing it at the heart of his friend.

His arm trembled but his voice was firm.

_Seule Your death will end the dictatorship. I love you but I also like Rapture. And if I have to kill one to save the other, well ... so be it. Do you have a last statement Mr. Ryan?

Ryan did not move. He did not feel an ounce of fear. He knew very well what would happen.

_Juste One: I ask you from having in mind the memory of me before. That's all I want. Do not worry, you will not suffer.

He clearly saw the eyes of his former right arm widen misunderstanding. It should not understand why Andrew had told him that. That made him hesitate for a split second, just the time it took Andrew out for an ace up his sleeve.

And just when Bill would pull the trigger, a dark ceiling fell directly on him. There was a horrible ripping noise and a Splicer made its appearance suddenly, planting a hook in the hands of the Scots, while on the other hand, it reduces the face lint even nails.

The fight was unequal, and all knew it. McDonagh did not even try to defend themselves when the Splicer bit him savagely in the neck, tearing pieces of flesh.

The former plumber fell to his knees, bleeding to death. He wanted to whisper something but the Splicer finished planting hook him in the heart. His murderer remained a few seconds to dance frantically around the body and then turned his gaze to Ryan.

Andrew had not changed since earlier. The Splicer came, his black and syrupy saliva running down his chin. The strange creature came forward again and then, when she was only a few steps from Ryan, knelt and bowed his head.

Then they heard a clap and Dr. Suchong suddenly emerges from behind a pillar away.

_Bravo! he exclaimed. It was perfect, perfect. Gas works perfectly Mr. Ryan.

_A Wonder? Ryan was furious. The splicers were supposed to obey. I ordered that Bill does not suffer!

Suchong tried to appease his master, laying his hand upon his shoulder:

_You Know that science is sometimes capricious. The most important thing to remember is that our experience is a success. We control the splicers, although this is not entirely the finger and the eye. I could still develop pheromone gas that they obey better but it is not simple.

Ryan let out a contemptuous tone in Splicer spinning. Immediately, the creature is propelled on a pillar it climbed before taking refuge in the darkness of the ceiling. The master of Rapture then advanced to the body of his former right arm and crouched at his side

_This That I'm really sorry to have happened so far. But I can not tolerate any flaw in the war machine. You tried to kill me. You will be exposed as the other assassins in this hall. However, out of respect for your memory, my friend, I'm going to burn your body. So no one knows my former assistant tried to kill me.

_Cela Seems too lenient, objected Suchong.

_This I decide Doctor Andrew replied in a voice call without any rising. Obey my orders.

Suchong slightly bowed and asked permission to leave. He was about to finally achieve the perfect link between Guards and Little Sisters and was sure to get there before the end of the day. Ryan gave him what he wanted. Chinese bowed, leaving Ryan alone.

Alone.

It was perhaps this feeling that it crushed the most heart in recent months, since he had total control over Rapture. Throughout the war, he felt himself become one with Rapture, fighting for the life of every person. But since he was the absolute master of the city, he felt completely out of his city. A little as if watching a show from afar, without really interested.

He had done-and-done so many horrible things during this past year ... power increasingly authoritarian, enhanced security, laws and extraordinary appalling section twenty-five, his personal reign on city and now the gas Suchong.

The splicers were suddenly multiplied a few days ago. So much so that outside control, they had massacred almost the entire population healthy Rapture. Only the intervention in extremis Suchong was allowed to avoid annihilation. Suchong had developed a simple and effective gas: it broadcast some pheromones in the air and instantly the splicers who aspired to become perfect servants, ready to fill any desire to Ryan and his camp.

This gas was nothing other than the death of free will. The purest insult we could do to Rapture, the rape of his dream. But again, Suchong had convinced his master: if this gas could control the splicers, now the majority in the town, it was better that their camp on hold, rather than Atlas? The scientist had vowed to work to heal their illness splicers with a new plasmid eliminate any trace of ADAM in their veins, making them a body and a healthy mind. So for the umpteenth time, Ryan had been persuaded.

He turned and started walking towards her office when a member of the security rushed over him, holding a folder in her hand.

_Monsieur Ryan! Mr. Ryan!

Andrew beckoned him to approach. The guard handed him a thick file in his hands, explaining that the officer Sullivan had explicitly requested that these documents be delivered by hand to Ryan. The soldier then returned to his post.

Ryan opened the folder and grabbed the first paper he had before. It was a letter and he recognized without difficulty writing the Irish

_Mr. Ryan._

_I must admit that like many rapturiens the idea of the dictatorship did not please me much. Much less than the death penalty. I still managed to obey your commands and contain the threat of Atlas. But since the assassination of Culpepper, I can not take my image of death of the head. Yes, I have written "murder". If I once killed men and women, whether on the surface or here, they were criminals. Not innocent. I make my badge and I stop everything. I do not see a way to get rid of the guilt I'll join my victims in death. I hope you win this war Mr. Ryan. For me, I've lost._

_PS: attached a summary of my secret archives of Rapture and its inhabitants. I particularly recommend the pages on miss Jolene. This should greatly interest you._

_Farewell, Andrew._

_Sullivan._

Ryan was speechless few moments to read and reread the letter. Sullivan came to write it suicide. His security chief, his friend, had decided to take his own life. Andrew did not know what to think. He felt sad because he lost a dear friend but also anger against this accursed war had crack Sullivan. Ryan swore Atlas would pay. One way or another, but he would pay. Because of him, Andrew had lost a close more. This never would have happened if Atlas had not instigated the revolt.

The postscript intrigued him even more. So like this, the Irish could not resist the orders of his master and had investigated Jasmine? Sullivan never knew when to stop when it came to dig into the past of the people. The first impulse was to throw Andrew fire folder. But upon reflection, he said that if he wanted Sullivan to read the documents about his mistress, was that they were to be important.

He flipped the pages so the file, until you reach the letter J. There he stopped short and smiled discovering a large black and white photograph of his mistress. Almost instinctively, he stroked the photo paper at your fingertips, as a palliative to the absence of Jasmine. He had not had time to see for weeks now. Always too busy with the gue ...

He stopped again the thread of his thoughts, but not this time of rapture. He read the notes of the officer and Sullivan felt a cold hand as he searched the bowels.

No.

It was not possible. Sullivan had to make a mistake. He was wrong, it was the only possible explanation. Jasmine could not do that. No, no, impossible, impracticable.

The shock was so shaken that Ryan was more the case than arm's length and they were shaking so hard it was hard to keep reading. No, of course it was impossible but that would explain everything. This could explain why she changed the subject when he tried to talk about children

He trusted her. A pure and absolute faith. He loved it and it was mutual. No, never, she never would have done that.

And yet ... it seemed so logical. So simple.

He had no choice, he had to remove the doubt and ask the main interest.

He closed the case with a snap, the blocked under his arm and started for Fort Frolic. He cursed every moment that still separated the Garden of Eve and Jasmine. During the trip, he found himself biting his lower lip anxiety, as he managed to split it. But he felt neither pain nor the blood that flowed from his wound. All his mind, his body was directed to the woman he Jasmine confirmed that it was not there for nothing, doubts would go away and he could throw these pages cursed in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.

He crossed the kingdom of Cohen as an automaton, not paying attention to even strange statues of plaster began to fill the area. It crossed this person and he was fine.

Finally, he arrived at the brothel.

He walks through the doors as he had done so many times, leaving the Garden of Eve swallow. Generally, he loved maroon tapestry of the club or its pavement black and gold but today it was really not in the mood. The club was totally empty except Jasmine who whirled around on stage a dance bar chrome. She stopped her dancing in a suggestive position and his face lit up recognizing her lover

_Tiens, Well, Andrew Ryan, a ghost!

His voice almost instantly pushed Andrew to kiss her on the spot. But he could not touch it before it is explained on the back of Sullivan.

She stepped away from the bar and went to dance backstage while blowing Andrew, a deliciously languid tone of reach. He followed a step may be even more active than usual. In the hallway leading to her room, she giggled:

_I Thought you had forgotten your poor Jasmine. But I'm glad it is not the case.

This stilted politeness was a game to her. She was one of the few to speak to Ryan without calling "sir" first. She took his distances in speech when she wanted to tease him, as here, for not coming to see her for several weeks.

Finally, they came into his room. No sooner had they passed the door that the young woman threw herself into his arms. This time, however, prevented him from Andrew embrace by drawing the palm of his hand upright. Jasmine stopped a few inches from him, intrigued:

_Quoi? What happens darling?

_Jasmine, He said in a voice that struggled to recognize himself. I need a clear answer.

He opened the folder on the pages and handed them to him. There was nothing to do with it. She was telling the truth, that it was wrong and everything would be better. Jasmine would never do that. Jasmine's would never have betrayed.

However, Jasmine's face paled. A pallor of death, worse than the complexion of more dolphins splicers. Blood red lips twisted in a grimace of terrible remorse.

No. No. No.

_I Regret Mr. Ryan, she stammered, almost in tears. I do not know.

Politeness game was no longer appropriate. She called him "Mr. Ryan". Like so many others. It was not the game, it was fear.

She did. Sullivan was right, she did.

_Alors It was true, he blew flabbergasted. You betrayed me.

_I Did not know! she pleaded.

_Tu Slept with me to get pregnant and sell the embryo Tennenbaum, on behalf of Fontaine. You sold the flesh of my flesh. Thou hast deceived and manipulated.

_I Did not know that Fontaine had to do something there! she burst into tears.

He had just been betrayed by the only woman in the world which he was in love. In fact, perhaps never had she ever loved. She worked for Fontaine perhaps since the beginning and they meet at the bar after the first Culpepper owed nothing to chance, but the orders of Jasmine.

_Qu'est Do you do? she moaned, seeing out a pistol from his pocket. No, please, no!

He should have felt hot rage and fury. But it was the depression that filled while pointing a gun at his mistress.

_No! No! she repeated.

He confined himself to cock the hammer.

_I Love you! she cried in a final plea.

Then he dropped his cane fell to the ground in a terrible noise and the free hand, he pulled her to her mistress for a passionate kiss. He left his lips and looked regrets tears of his beautiful emerald eyes.

_Sache That you remain the only woman I ever loved.

And he pulled the trigger. How many times he no longer knew. He lives just down on the bed Jasmine, splashing the walls of his blood, his arms folded in front of her face an ultimate defense ridiculous. How he then left the scene, leaving behind him, it seemed his hat and shoes, and God alone knew when he had removed-, it still seemed foggy. He never regained consciousness until much later, slumped on the couch, a bottle of vodka in hand.

He had to kill her. He had murdered the woman he loved. His crime was despicable but she deserved. She had sold the embryo Fontaine! At his worst enemy! It was by far the worst and most horrible thing that can make it to him, Andrew Ryan!

But he had to kill her. To take his life. He killed two people in his life. The first was the murderer of his family. The second was the woman he was madly in love.

Into a sort of mystical crisis sudden, Ryan stood up, pointed his gaze to the sky and shouted:

_Dieu! If you exist, then destroy me! I just killed the woman I love! Will I still deserves to live after that? What I use it all that he says, pointing to his office by the same power, if I do not have Jasmine? So come on! Send your angels, lightning hit me, do everything but jump KILLS ME!

For a second, Ryan really had faith. He sincerely believed that God existed and that he would accede to his request. But of course, nothing happened. Neither angel nor lightning, or explosion. Nothing, nothing.

Ryan found himself as before.

Alone.

_Seul, He whispered, kissing the piece look.

He dragged himself to the window and looked Rapture.

_Ma Daughter, he whispered with a sob. I just did something horrible. Everything crumbles around me: Bill passes to the enemy, Sullivan suicide, people get crazy ...

He rested his forehead against the glass, trying to enjoy the cool depths.

_Tout Escapes me darling. All. But I refuse to surrender. Atlas will pay for what he did to my world. For what he did to you my daughter. It is more than temporary measures. I will hunt down and kill Atlas. The head of this bastard will be placed on my nightstand. Then I will undertake accomplices Fontaine, who stole my child. When them are dead, there will be more than splicers.I'll kill them too.

A faint smile, tore the face of bleak old man

_Alors We stay together girl.

He kissed against the glass.

_Seuls And peace for eternity. I promise.


	20. Chapter 20

_Rapture, a few hours to a few minutes earlier_

Andrew Ryan slammed the tip of his gun against his temple. Placed the cold metal against her skin gave the impression icing his whole being. Not shaking his finger and rested quietly on the trigger. Everything was peaceful.

He cocked the hammer and heard with great tranquility, the mechanisms of the weapon in place. He could even smell the grease which he had used to polish the balls.

He inhaled slowly. Calmly. He closed his eyes.

Then he pulled the trigger.

Silence was the only thing that filled the room. A deathly silence that seemed to penetrate into his being. Annoyed, Ryan opened his eyes, pulled the gun out of his head and dropped the gun on the ground. Once again, he was not dead.

Once more.

Every day he took his gun, slipped a bullet in the barrel and twirled. Then he pressed the trigger, aiming for his head. Russian roulette with himself. To believe that he was nostalgic country.

It was not suicide itself. It was more a kind of macabre game he inflicted daily. As the only way to wake up from this nightmare had become the City of the Impossible. But it was nice to try it every day, he never died. It would have so loved. Everything stops, finally! That guilt which devoured every second since he became dictator go with him, everything fades, it's nothing left.

That's what he wanted. And what he did not.

He buried his head in his hands and began to pray. Not to God since the death of Jasmine, it became even more atheistic than before-but himself. He repeated the oath he had sworn to Rapture, get rid of Atlas and his henchmen, and splicers. Although he sank a little more each day, it was this promise that prevented completely lose foot. It was this commitment which enabled him to attempt suicide do only once a day.

He stifled a laugh sad. There is still a year, who would have thought the legendary Andrew Ryan fall so low? A man who had the power, wealth, a seducer, a conqueror, the human God of Rapture! And lower than this earth, miserable, suicidal. There was plenty of laughter. It looked like a tragic drama. The hero at the beginning of the adventure had everything and crushed by fate, ended up losing everything and die in the most pathetic possible. To believe that Shakespeare had found the right words when he said that the world was a huge stage and that everyone played a role.

But Andrew was not a man to be wearing off stage before going through with his role. It would be a thousand times as long to die in peace once he personally ripped the heart of Atlas and placed under bell. There, he could finally close my eyes and let the darkness win. But not before.

He had made a promise to Rapture, his daughter. And he would never betray his word.

He had also begun to hold. He did not even Atlas himself, of course, but was closer than ever. Suchong gas and almost total control of splicers allowed him to keep the whole Rapture look like a gigantic jaw open. Atlas makes the mistake of showing and it would be ruthlessly crushed.

His accomplices, the task was accomplished, in part, at least with regard Suchong. Ryan did not have the time to discover the treachery of the Chinese that he had already died in a tragic accident involving a protector. Andrew swore not to have killed himself, but that the doctor had suffered horribly before dying he put a little balm to the heart. It was finally due to Suchong that Ryan had come to accept the idea of dictatorship. To think that a strong power, even totalitarian, was always better than indescribable chaos. Ryan wondered now if Suchong had not worked since the beginning of Atlas, seeking to push the camp Andrew extremism in order to arrive at this state of implosion. Maybe. Maybe not. Ryan would never, scientist taking his secret with him in death.

The case of Tennenbaum was different. She had made more discreet to disappear completely from the circulation. Finally, "totally." Let's just say she knew to be forgotten. But some signs, such as unexplained disappearance of the Little Sisters aiguillaient more the master of the city to a simple theory: the German hiding in the underground of the city, seeking to capture the girls in order to release the slug and give them their freedom. If the situation was not as critical, Ryan would have given him all his consent. Heal small part of its long-term plans. But there was still a need for the moment. It was they who made the ADAM, recycling blood and corpses miracle substance was the carrot that prevented splicers die from lack. And the creatures were the spearhead of his plan against Atlas.

There was also more strictly speaking population healthy Rapture. Maybe some survivors holed they still at home, barricaded and scared. It was the splicers who now reigned supreme. Ryan had been spared only because gas and countless machines that provided security protection.

Ryan stretched his aching muscles and yawned. He was exhausted. Weeks he did not sleep, or in spurts, populated by nightmares. Days that he had neither washed nor shaved. When he crossed his image in a mirror, he saw that a monster. It was not even the fact of seeing a man with a hairy face, with a three-day beard, red eyes and adorned with deep black circles. All this was only physical and it happened to be mine even worse in his youth, after nights of hard work. No, he saw the monster lay in his eyes. While he was still a boy, his father had once told a proverb, saying that the eyes were the windows of the soul. It seemed that in his case, he had an empty soul.

He could see no color in his eyes. They sometimes filled with anger when he thought Atlas and what he had done to Rapture or sadness when resongeait Jasmine but overall it was nothing that had taken up residence in his eyes. Everything seemed an overwhelming futility. Life itself had no meaning.

A sudden burst of pride made him take his gun and glue against the soft flesh of the underside of his jaw. He cocked the hammer and prepared to squeeze the trigger six times. Atlas to the devil! To hell with the Great Chain! Anything could well go up in smoke! He would leave this world in his hand and ...

An alarm sound made him turn his head to the Monitor Rapture. The lights had gone red and a shrill alarm rang throughout the room. Intrigued, Ryan lowered his gun and decided to go to the monitors. It was very strange in itself Rapture was full of alarms and security cameras, ready to tell the master of the city any problem. And this time, the problem seemed to come from the lighthouse. If we thought the lights, someone had entered the tower. Worse, someone had the time to use the bathysphere that led to the main city. It was illogical. First, how would anyone have found Rapture? Even the lighthouse was not shown on the maps. They were hidden in an area reduces maritime traffic between Iceland and Greenland. More Ryan looked at his watch it was nearly two in the morning. On the surface, the night had to be the darkest possible. Even if the light was on, there was nothing to see. And even adding one by one these improbabilities, Ryan took care to lock carefully bathysphères Rapture. Nobody except himself could not activate. He blocked the mechanism of the spheres by a special lock, which is activated when it presented its genetic code. Its genetic code to it.

Ryan was perhaps at the end of the roll and suicidal impulses taken but he was sure that he had told anyone that he kept the key genetic permanently with him. It was she who made him the lord of the city and it would have given that power to anyone else. He began to foment assumptions about the identity of the person in the sphere: a new rapturien? Unlikely and if that was the case, he had chosen a bad moment. An envoy of the great powers seemed more plausible. After all, on the surface, USA and USSR would continue their childish confrontation. Each country had a superpower. They may have heard of Rapture and the elite who was there. Capitalists and communists would love to have on their side such an asset. Yes, a U.S. government agent or Soviet seemed the most likely.

Anger invades Andrew. Parasites could not help it, huh? A surface or here, they were always trying to take what was not theirs. To believe that everything was Ryan drew these cockroaches as honey attracted bees. He corrected himself mentally. He had no right to compare parasites and bees. These were useful to society. No parasites.

Any suicidal impulse went. He would take care of the intruder. He was going to hang on the wall like the others and revel in the decay of his body. He had lost everything to save Rapture parasites inside. He did not even let those outside venture into the city to marvel at the beauty of his daughter. They died in a jiffy, in a sigh, in a wink. The splicers reduce the pieces.

Ryan put his weapon and focused his attention on this new entertainment. It was always funny to see parasites die. See the glimmer in his eyes that had become extinct when they expire slowly, spitting blood every second separating their miserable existence at the end. Andrew went to the monitor covered with screens that were broadcasting that saw security cameras. He pressed the buttons and lowered the various levers to Acquire images from security cameras that level.

The picture was not good. Lack of maintenance and splicers had done much harm to the security technology of Rapture. The image was wracked with tremors and grainy appeared here and there, hiding by the time a particular area of the room. Ryan was not able to see precisely the intruder. He saw the bathysphere, partly gutted but there was nobody inside. Andrew cursed herself for not having done more cameras installed in the area. He was about to get the parasite with the help of other cameras when control radio crackled Rapture. This feature of the monitor allowed Andrew to quickly contact anyone in the city and most importantly, to catch any broadcast shortwave. And listening to the voice that used these waves, Ryan felt a joymorbid win: Atlas! He was listening to Atlas!

Ryan forced himself to keep a cool head a few moments to be sure he was not mistaken. But no, this Irish accent, the stamp of the working classes, it was undoubtedly that of his excitement of Ryan won power. Finally! Atlas finally unveiled. It would probably make a mistake, say where he was holed and Ryan would be able to react accordingly.

Listening to the conversation and parasite Atlas, Ryan discovered several pieces of information: first, the intruder Atlas regarded as an ally in its war against Andrew and blackened the table, making Ryan the worst despot that the Earth has worn. Strictly speaking, Andrew could not blame him for having given this definition: Rapture had never seen one tyrant to his chagrin, it was himself.

But the second information was most interesting: the parasite begged Atlas to help save his family, stuck in a submarine Neptune's Bounty. A genuine smile lit up the tired face of the master of the city. Thus, Atlas had a family? How sad ... it seemed that his wife and son, Patrick and Moira thought he had hear-becoming collateral victims of the war. It may be morally abject instigating the death of a woman and a boy. But Ryan did not allow himself any longer hindered by moral now. Atlas had taken all his people? Ryan returned the blow. It was not revenge? It was justice.

The intruder seemed to continue to grow. He was carrying a weapon, a simple wrench and appeared to inject the first plasmid. According to the cameras, he would soon enter the Medical Pavilion-the-kingdom Steinmann.

The artist was not himself because of Adam: he said see Venus, the goddess of beauty in person and even talk to him. Hallucinations would have remained a lesser evil if Steinmann had not made up his mind to anyone passing within reach beautiful as any specific standards. He tortured his victims to death, turning their face into a horrible caricature cubism. But let Ryan was the watchdog of the Medical Pavilion. And the parasite does not happen.

However, Ryan wanted to see the intruder a little closer. Then he entered the Hall, Ryan blocked exits and pressing a button, did appear on a giant screen in front of the intruder.

Andrew's first reaction was surprise: he had no idea that the man is so young. He was a young man, no, it was even a boy. Brown, barely twenty years. He wore a blue jeans pants and a thick wool sweater white. Ryan looked at him a moment, then:

_Dites Me: what combination of villains sent you? Could this be the KGB wolf? The CIA jackal? Listen carefully: Rapture is not a wreck can loot envy and Andrew Ryan is not a madcap socialite who molest leave by the government.

Then, having regained his composure:

_Bien. Goodbye. Or _dasvidania_ , as you prefer.

And to give the signal for them to kill splicers. However, windows draw good. The young man had time to slip into the Medical Pavilion and close the heavy iron door just before the creatures attack. Ryan let out a whistle of admiration. It was played by the small. But he had faced some splicers. It does not compete shod to Dr. Steinmann.

But half an hour later, Ryan had become disillusioned, not only the boy was discharged alive Pavilion but in addition, he left behind him the corpse of Steinmann. The doctor tried to fight but the young man had turned against its own plastic bottles of oxygen, before setting it on fire. The surgeon had gone crazy and administrator in a shower of flames. It was truly remarkable.

Ryan thought that the splicers and security would be sufficient to overcome the intruder but showed surprisingly little is inventive to get by. He combined weapons and plasmids to defeat his enemies and had even gone to fight a guard. The fight was also very surprising. On the one hand, it was the boy who had left and then Ryan had never seen a guard against losing more than a pack of splicers armed to the teeth. And on the other hand, little was then approached the Little Sister helpless ... and had spared. Worse, he was healed! She had become a little girl of five years, like so many others in the area.

It was beyond all logic: why do it? Throughout Rapture, the Little Sisters were hunted for their ADAM ... he cared for their curse. Anyone would have killed the child to get its hands on the power of the miracle substance. But the intruder had decided to save small. Undoubtedly, it was not like the others.

The young man continued his progression. So much so that he eventually enter Fontaines Fisheries and thence to the cache of smugglers qu'utilisait Fontaine in time to pass his goods. After the fall of the French, the area had been abandoned, men Andrew merely a simple oversight that nobody would use more of this hub. Ryan spoke directly to the young man while he was on the verge of entering the control room of the cache and open the door to let Atlas.

_Bien. I think the joke has gone on long enough. If you press this button, you will know what it's like to really be my enemy.

But the young man did not seem to worry about these threats since pressed the button to open the door a few seconds later. Immediately, jumped and shot full cache found himself plunged into darkness. Ryan nearly lost the picture but the power cameras stood firm. The master of the city smiles seeing the silhouette of a man in his shirt waving near the submarine. Atlas.

_It's So dark, he told the intruder who had not left the control booth. If only your friend could look up and see you. You could prevent it. If only you could do something ...

Ryan and immediately ordered a pack of splicers invaded the premises. He gave them simple instructions: kill Atlas and retain young enough time for him to attend the killing of his ally. And after that Ryan could see on the screen, the first part of the plan seemed good walk. A voice from beyond the grave, he continued to speak to the young man.

_ ... Anything. Instead of staying there to watch him die.

Andrew sat more comfortably to attend the execution. Unfortunately, Ryan had underestimated Atlas. Instead of staying near the submarine, the man managed to escape by killing some splicers, leaving the young man to save his family. A grimace of disgust deformation features Ryan. If he had still not even a hint of respect for Atlas, he had to fly. He left the submarine which housed his wife and only son in the care of someone other than himself? Not really, Ryan would have no qualms about ordering the destruction of the vehicle.

What he did. The submarine exploded in a burst of flames, killing splicers who were still nearby. Since the monitors, Ryan tried to locate the young man to see if he had survived. It seemed that the force of the blast had spared. The kid had amazing reflexes. To believe that his body was designed to use plasmids. It looked nothing like the methods of a government agent.

_You You enter as an assassin before he fled like a thief, he said. You're not a secret agent of the CIA. -Who are you? What are you doing here?

He left floating for a moment before concluding two questions:

_It Are two ways to solve a mystery. Either discover or destroy it.

He hung up, without ever ceasing to follow the progress of the young man. The mystery was growing with each step he took in Rapture. He was able to use the bathysphere and Vita-Chambers while this material was supposed to be locked. The young man wielded weapons and plasmids to perfection and although he could not know Rapture, there seemed quite at a kind of natural environment.

Ryan got in touch with him as he entered Arcadia. Certainly, he came straight to his office. After all, a line almost directly linked to Hephaestus Arcadia. The young man was heading towards Ryan and the latter could bet that his intentions were anything but friendly.

_I Am here to build the impossible, Ryan said the young man as he progressed through the gardens. You've come to steal what you can not build such a barbarian in awe of the gates of Rome. Even the air you breathe is debited from my account. So breathe deeply. Later to remember its taste.

Ryan's words were more prosaic one might think. Indeed, even after a few chances left to splicers but opted for a more radical solution. With a single button, it sent the defoliant in Arcadia he ordered Langford years ago. He saw the trees shrivel and die. The large and beautiful Arcadia contained only leaves. But Ryan had done much more than kill plants. All the oxygen Rapture came from Arcadia. Without trees, no one could breathe.

The young man would soon die of suffocation. Like Atlas. As splicers. Ryan-as if he did not own air reserves Emergency Hephaestus, of course-.

He had only to wait for the young man passes away. This should not take much time Arcadia was closed and the intruder could not escape.

But again, the young man showed a spirit of initiative explosive. He went to seek help from Julie Langford. Ryan was named director of Arcadia latter and although it is not among his most ardent supporters, she had done an effective job in time for the first botanist Rapture. That said, Ryan still have doubted its support after the use of defoliants. And honestly, he could understand. He could not bear, however, is that the botanist was going to use one of its latest products, the Lazarus Vector, supposed to resurrect the dead trees. This was to be the crowning achievement of his career as a scientist and her way to atone for Japan drowned in chemicals. However, the Vector was property-Ryan of Ryan Industries actually but it was more of the same-. Langford that the factory was one thing. But it will make use of, it was a breach of contract. While science was close to synthesize the product, Ryan spoke to her through loudspeakers:

_Julie. We had a deal both, is not it? The money has changed hands. Let me read to you what is stipulated in our agreement. Andrew Ryan reserves the EXCLUSIVE rights for creation, operation and use of the Lazarus Vector.

Langford seemed to look everywhere around her, as if she already sensed the danger. But it was too late. Ryan sent directly toxic gases in the laboratory sealed the botanist. Then she begged him for losing his breath more quickly, Ryan continued:

_The Property is civilization. Without it, we would stay in the mud.

The gas eventually hide the play to the cameras. Ryan shrugged. Langford was effective, but like the others, it had become a parasite. The death penalty is applied so as to it.

Without Langford, the young man could never make the Lazarus Vector. It took Julie, one of the best scientists in the world, years and years of hard work to close. Unless the intruder is an expert botanist and without wishing to draw hasty judgments, Ryan-doubted he could synthesize the product. He could not stop the death of trees and eventually pass away himself.

But the young man did not seem to go so easily. He managed to find notes on Vector Langford and was able to synthesize it after a long search in Arcadia elements that made the product. It was amazing to see a young man of only twenty years, with only one hearing aid to rebel and behave. He managed to make the Vector. And even the army sent by splicers Ryan was put in play by the intruder. This young man was simply fascinating. If Ryan had believed in God, he would have thought that the teenager enjoyed divine favor.

Ryan had to investigate. But the young man was going too fast. He would cross the Fort Frolic lightning and stand in front of Ryan in person before it leaves the chair. It was to save time.

With a weary sigh, Ryan Cohen contacted.

The artist took his position as a director too seriously, like Steinmann. The ego Cohen already had immeasurable simply quintupled under the effects of the ADAM. He now saw as the greatest artist in the world, being on earth than to be adored crowds. His love of art had become as big as his contempt for the human race and it worked for a few weeks to kill and plastering his victims. Fort Frolic now overflowing with corpses, placed in positions more or less KIBBLED, depending on the mood of Cohen.

_who Application Sander Cohen, the greatest artist in the world?

_Sander Is Andrew. I need your help.

_Andrew! It is always a pleasure to chat with you. I hope you come to my opening. I have new statues for you to discover!

Strangely, the ADAM had not altered the friendship that Cohen was the master of the city. He always saw him as a closer. Perhaps the only human being worthy of him actually speak.

_A Young man goes to your quarters. I want you reteniez maximum time.

_And Why would I do that? asked Cohen, whose voice betrayed exasperation. I'm trying to create. To give life. To become God! I can not handle any youngster.

_Peut Could be there to help you achieve your masterpiece?

The words were not chosen at random summers. For months, Cohen complained that his ultimate masterpiece-a quadriptique if Ryan had grasped-not moving because of the incompetence of his disciples, the four men who deeply disappointed Sander.

_Mais Yes! exclaimed Cohen. You are right! It is the human touch is missing in my work more than God! Andrew thank you, thank you!

_I Beg you, Ryan replied by cutting communication.

He frowned and began to pace to help think. If the young man was as strong as that, and after its previous prowess, he was, Cohen could hold only a few hours. But it was enough for Andrew. The puzzle pieces assembled slowly. The young man seemed empty real intentions, yet he always knew exactly where to go. He could use all the machines encrypted by the genetic code of Ryan bathysphères of the Vita-Chambers ...

He could not think. He went into the anteroom of his office and faced a large table. He used it when he wanted to put his problems flat. Which he did, using photographs. He pressed first the young man next to hers. He stared at a piece of red wool in between. It was obvious that the young man can move as freely in Rapture, he had the key genetic Ryan. However, the latter was still in possession of a billionaire. There was no double that key. The only way would be to deceive machine code by hand. A brother? Impossible. Ievguenia him and were the last family members Rydjii. And his sister had died over forty years ago. She had no children.

Andrew let his eyes run over the table before stopping on a poster for a show of Jasmine, he had hung there at the beginning of their relationship. He had not thought to withdraw after the death of his mistress. Think Jolene gave her angel face blond head to Ryan and he felt his eyes mist up. Why was he killed?

Ryan felt a void open in his chest at the thought of murdering his mistress. Not so much the act itself, but why he had committed. She was pregnant and had sold the embryo Tennenbaum.

Pregnant.

Child.

The words echoed a lot of time in the mind of Ryan. The young man is he his son? In this case, the genetic code would be close enough to fool the machines. But it was impossible. If the folder Sullivan was right, Jolene was pregnant in the fall of 1955 and have delivered in 1956. The intruder was not four years. Nobody could grow as fast. Unless ...

Ryan ran a bunch of secret files Sullivan and pulled out a report which claimed Tennenbaum able to mature any embryo in record time, just by using plasmids.

So that was it.

_The Bastards ... could not help blowing Ryan between his teeth.

He completed the picture with photos of Jasmine and Tennenbaum of Suchong and Fontaine, the leaders of the conspiracy. It was crazy to think that, but the plasmids made this could cover this plan awful. Quite the ropes of French. Atlas and have taken the helm of the project, once Fontaine death. Yes, everything stood.

Except for one thing: how the hell he handled his son? It seemed like a pawn move. Always tell him what to do with his horrible Irish accent and his damn tic langua ...

Ryan stopped the flow of his thoughts. Tic language of Atlas. The "please" returning in her mouth like a jingle every time he spoke to his son. Is what could be ...

Mechanically, Ryan listened to a recording of Suchong on mind control. According to him, we could do what we wanted for a person conditioned by plasmids by a simple phrase. Key phrase was "please."

Ryan drew these words in red ink on the table, while supplementing the last strands of wool.

Then he stepped back, admiring the result.

All stood.

The young man was his natural son he had with Jasmine. It was sold in an embryo time by his mistress Tennenbaum who did grow up so fast and that conditionality Suchong had then sent his son out of Rapture to use it later against Ryan. And now, her child was the victim of Atlas.

Ryan returned to his office without a life. It was so bad he could no longer think. He did realize that the intruder, his son-was not far from his office when he saw approaching the ante on security screens. Ryan was so absorbed in his investigation that his son had time to survive Cohen, perhaps kill, crossing the impressive safety of Hephaestus and move to him. Soon, in a few minutes, it would visually before him. But Ryan wanted to talk to him one last time before the monitor to see with his own eyes:

_Même In a tissue of lies, the truth is sometimes found. There is a season for everything. Now that I see you flesh against flesh, blood against blood, I know that I can not lay a hand on know this: you are my greatest disappointment.

He paused, licked his lips and said:

_Votre Master hear me? Atlas! You can kill me but you will never have my city! My strength is not in steel and fire. This is what you other parasites you will never understand: a time to live, a time to die. A time to build, a time to destroy!

And activated the self-destruct code Rapture. The entire city trembled while Andrew had already separated the city minutes from the end. He turned again to his son through the radio before opening a passage into his quarters.

_Venez My child. We need to talk about one last thing.

Then he cut off the monitor for good. He then turned to the windows, trying to look one last time before the city to deal with her child for the first and last time in his life.


	21. Chapter 21

Ryan forced himself to remove his memories of his mind. He had no time to think about it. He had no right to take refuge in the past. He was not a coward. He faced his end with honor. It was not a parasite, clinging to life like a leech, crying and begging him leave a few minutes of life. It was Andrew Ryan. And as he had said before programming the end of Rapture, there was a time for everything. He had lived, he could not deny it. Although he would have preferred that the last years of his life were less pleasant summers, he still enjoyed the existance. But it was time.

He had never really thought about his death. It was abstract and unclear. But he knew one thing: he wanted to leave with dignity. Not to leave a favorable impression in the world but he died keeping intact his self-esteem. Could well spit on pride, arguing that it was a cardinal sin or say that we should not compare ourselves to others, the fact was: the man was proud by nature. It was natural to feel more important and more deserving than others. To think the world owe nothing. In his youth, Ryan was flipping through the Hakakure a practical guide and spiritual Japanese. A quote he remembered. The author claimed that pride should be regularly used as a sword to prevent rusting. And Ryan was perfectly okay with that.

He concentrated on his golf game. He did not care about black where his office is found immersed or explosions that shook all Rapture, dropping here and there in the dust and rubble. He only saw his playing his game and his son, of course.

It was only a few steps away from Ryan, who live behind the large separated his office even the rest of the premises. Ryan was not looking. He began to speak as easily as it did in the time of its splendor, perhaps even more.

_L'assassin Beat my last defenses and picking me up. Ultimately, what distinguishes man from the slave?

He stepped to the side and found the path that would take the ball while speaking:

_L'argent? Power? No! The man chooses while the slave obeys.

Ryan approached his ball for the first time since he had entered, he looked at his son in the eye. He saw this young man, this young dark-haired and dark-eyed, with this dirty jeans and white wool sweater. He saw his son.

He had never thought like that. He had always thought her children would have hair as black as he is. Strangely, though observing his face, Ryan found there a little. But it was hard to admit that behind the window, stood her child. It had not been an exemplary father. But Ryan had much to catch up in a few minutes:

_You Do have memories: a farm, a family, an airplane, a crash and then this place.

He gently tapped the ball and made a hole in one. He smiled inwardly, well pleased to have played golf for the last time in his life.

_Avez You really want a family? The plane crashed there or he was hijacked?

Ryan reached into his pocket and pulled out a new golf ball with which played in a while to turn it between his fingers

_It Was irrepressibly attracted by something less than human. Something designed to remain dormant until a single sentence of his master awakens.

He dropped the ball and leaned casually against the golf club:

_A T we sent a man to kill me or a slave?

He left his postion to go open the door:

_L'homme Chooses, a slave obeys.

He slid the door of a button. Avnaça his son to him, but to touch:

_Arrêtez You, please.

The young man stopped dead. A look of disgust barred old man's face. It was really that simple?

_ "Please." A powerful sentence. Famillière, perhaps?

He clearly saw the eyes of a child lost in the distance. His son finally understood he had been tricked by Atlas. But the lesson was not over:

_Asseyez You, please. Standing, please.

Like a dog, his son bowed his orders. Ryan's disgust grew. They had a puppet of her child.

_Courrez! Stop! Turn!

His son obeyed. Ryan knew he had to go through. He brandished his golf club, shouting:

_L'homme Chooses, a slave obeys!

He held out his golf club:

_Tuez.

Child struck full on the left temple. Ryan felt a sharp pain and bone crack. He stumbled back and put his hand to his injury. When he retired, it was red with blood. He took a few steps towards her son:

_L'homme Chooses ...

Once again, same place. Increasing pain went. Ryan turned upside down. It was so bad that he wanted to die. However, it should still hold good. Knees, he continued to speak:

_L'esclave Obeyed.

The club struck in full play, breaking his jaw. Ryan failed to suffocate in his own blood. He spat to clear the mouth and laying down his son with an air as authoritarian as his disfigured face he could, he seized him by the skirts of his garments:

_And Well, OBEY!

Ryan saw it coming in slow motion. He saw the head of the club head to his left temple and hit with unprecedented violence. He felt detach from the body of the club to file in his head, knocking him to the brain. He felt himself slipping down, too broken nerves to transmit any information. He bled and lost plenty already one by one her senses. He lost his first hearing and that was horrible Fracais explosions went off in Rapture. Then he felt her tongue swell and numb. His nose smelled the smell of fresh blood escaping from his body. Then, his body itself felt even that was lying on the floor.

He could have played differently. Use "please" to send his son to kill Atlas. But it does not manipulates her child as his enemy. It nétait not a parasite, using the other.

Maybe he would listen to the MacDonagh rather than Suchong? Rapture never harden. But even if Atlas was hands on his city now, Ryan left him nothing. To believe that all Russians used the scorched earth tactics against their enemies.

Ryan was a great hope in her son. He had finally realized that it was handled. It could now turn against Atlas, kill and save the Little Sisters of hell. Or it could instead seek more power in plasmids, killing girls and become the most powerful being of all Rapture before heading out to conquer the world. Then he closed his eyes and felt the darkness prevail, Ryan knew that the choice was in the hands of his son.

Because ultimately, it was always the same:

Man chooses.

The slave obeys.


End file.
